Whenever I go home to Michigan, I like to dig up the journals that I kept throughout high school. I love that I wrote those damn things and have a chronological look at my adolesence, full of colorful commentary of course. I'll leaf through them and hear my teenage self talking back to me about the boy I like, the test I'm stressed about and how anxious I am to get my license. For the most part - it's really funny, hearing what it was that my life revolved around at those young ages. But it's also really refreshing, it gives me a chance to remember where I came from and the roots I bore before I gave into my wings.
It's that. And being home with my family. And driving around the neighborhood. And seeing old classmates at the local bar. Life has splintered off, sure, but going back to where it started has a way of centering you. I think home sticks with you no matter what. Whether you know that as a person, a place or both. And one day in the future, once my wings are tired, I wouldn't be surprised if I return to both.
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