When I left my small Maine hometown for college at 17, I was filled with excitement. It was a good place to grow up, but I yearned for new experiences, new connections, and a fresh start far away—permanently.
So, when I made the surprising decision to return home just before my 33rd birthday, I was taken aback. I thought it would be a short stint, just a layover on the way to something better. I never imagined I could thrive in a place I once longed to escape.
Throughout my teens and 20s, I gauged my success by how far I moved from home. I attended college in Massachusetts, then bounced around various East Coast cities—Providence, Boston, Philadelphia—before settling back in Boston for a second time.
My hometown was just a stopover for visits between leases, never truly a home. However, as my second Boston chapter wrapped up in my early 30s, I decided to move back in with my parents. The plan was to save some money while working remotely and figure out my next steps. In no time, I was packing up my belongings and heading back to my childhood home.
Growing up, the thought of moving back in with my parents felt like a personal nightmare and a sign of failure. Surprisingly, the shame I expected never materialized. Instead, I cherished the quality time spent with my parents as we connected as adults. After years of city living, I relished the backyard and proximity to the ocean. I enjoyed chatting with neighbors and reconnecting with my childhood best friend.
Most importantly, I found joy in achieving life milestones in the same place I once swore I could never grow.
Since moving back, I’ve paid off my student loans in my living room, seen the northern lights from my backyard, and continued thriving while working remotely. Despite my past beliefs, I wasn’t just existing—I was flourishing.
Returning to my roots evoked a flood of memories, allowing me to appreciate my life thus far. Simple acts like clearing snow reminded me of racing upstairs for hot cocoa as a kid. Shopping with my mom felt like a time warp to my childhood, and sitting on the deck after a swim transported me back to my younger self.
Walking my dog past the mailbox where I received my college acceptance letters brought an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. Each version of me feels present here, and I’ve finally come to appreciate it rather than run away from it.
After a year back in my hometown, I remain uncertain if this is my forever place. I still have an itch for exploration and new experiences. But I know one thing: the roots I once tried to sever have taken hold, and I’m grateful for where they’re grounded.