I couldn’t wait to leave my hometown when I was younger. As a teenager, I thought any place would be better than where I grew up.
Know the feeling?
Ha! Can I tell you how wrong I was? I mean, there are many places I’ve travelled to, lived in, longed to live in…but, over the years, there is no place that will ever come close to being “home” as my first one.
Why I say that now, Dear Readers, is that I have been fortunate enough to be able to return home, on a regular enough basis recently, to feel that it still is “home”.
Does that ever really change?
I’m there enough to reconnect with old friends, some who have thrived and some who have not fared as well, and to make new ones.
When I walk into my favorite coffee spot of 35 years, I’m greeted with a nod and an easy smile. My favorite restaurant still serves the best refried beans. The Indian Dam at the Botanic Gardens still runs when the rains bless the land. And, I’ve found some new spots, too.
Growing up there was magical, soft, sweet, perhaps even dreamy. I came of age during the 1960’s, wearing flowing skirts, folk dancing on Sundays at the beach. We were young and beautiful…and didn’t know it. And, that’s probably a good thing!
I will be traveling “home” this Saturday for a week, to begin writing in earnest the book that so many have been asking for. That’s a pretty big thing for me to say because in doing so, I feel that it’s a statement of commitment to a big project and to you.
So, wish me luck and I’ll keep you posted.
In the meantime, there’s no place like home.