They say you can’t go home again. Or is it that you can? And where is home anyway?
I have several.
I’m at one now. Corolla, NC. I was not born here, I have no family here, I never even visited until I was in my mid 20s – yet I grew up here.
I raised my babies here. I sought refuge in the sound of the surf. I walked the same 3 miles of this shoreline an infinite number of times – seeing something new at every vista. I laughed here. I cried here. I struggled and I revived.
I haven’t been here in about 5 years. A far cry from monthly jaunts and hoa meetings for the better part of 2 decades .
I didn’t know I would be mere blocks from my home, until I was.
Tears well up repeatedly. Memories, fond and fragile pour in.
I say I used to have my shit together. And maybe I did. What does it freaking matter anyway? That was yesterday, a lifetime ago that feels like it never happened. Was it a dream? Did I treasure it like I should have?
Again, irrelevant. I only have this moment. The now. This decision, right this second, where I choose to explore my memories through words.
Tears well up again.
I am grateful. I am sad. I show Dylan all of the places his brothers know so well. I remember his first Easter here, as a baby, and a family of five. I recall naming him in a local restaurant. I look for the wild boar I have yet to find. I fixate on the surf and question the universe too much. I cry for what never will be, what once was, and the missing pieces of hopes and dreams that I seem to have misplaced.
This is home. A safe place to explore and grow – full of history and possibilities.