Go Home

Whether you’re still in your hometown or you’ve moved across the state, country, or the world, here’s my unsolicited advice: Go home.

Drive down streets you used to know like the back of your hand. Walk through your school’s halls. Flip through photo albums with your grandmother. Knock on former professors’ doors and squeeze people tight - especially the people who watched you fail but picked you up again. Who opened your mind and watched you grow up and cheered you on as you slowly but surely started becoming the person you were meant to be—the person they knew you could be, even when you didn’t.

My 96-year-old grandmother’s home.

And maybe you’ll relive some pain points or have awkward run-ins, or maybe you’ll leave smiling because you remember that really important, good, fun things happened here. And you can’t help but laugh too because growing up is weird, and how exactly is it a person can grow and change and live several lives in one, and yet, also not change at all?

I don’t know. But what I’m learning is that maybe there’s not some profound takeaway from this, or some big lesson to teach me. Maybe it’s all just a gift from God for the sake of being a gift. Maybe it’s purely the joy to be able to return to your Ebenezers and remember where you’ve been, and to see the now grey hairs of the faithful who stood with you every step of the way. To see that the childlike version of yourself isn’t that far away after all, and we get the privilege of carrying that with us, along with the wisdom and experience and fortitude we’ve gained along this long and winding path we’re on.

There are so many layers to each of us. Thousands upon thousands of stories and memories and feelings and interactions and hurts and triumphs and mistakes that got us here, to the person we are today and to the person we’re becoming. So all I’m saying is, if it’s been awhile, maybe it’s time to peel back a layer or two. Rejoice. Grieve. Remember. And see how sometimes looking back helps you keep moving forward.