The enchanting barns and silos drift further and further away as I bid farewell to that all too familiar terrain of Wisconsin. The older I become, the more endeared I feel toward the state in which I grew up. For many years I forsook Appleton for what it was: a burgeoning Midwestern city that’s only mildly hokey but certainly not continental. I was extremely fortunate to have had the opportunity to travel copiously in my youth as there was a considerable amount of horizon broadening that occurred as a result. Unfortunately though, it made me long for something bigger—a city of the world. I guess it boils down to never really appreciating what we have when we have it. Now that I’m ever so slightly more mature I relish the cultural idiosyncrasies of my hometown and am grateful that it had a hand in developing me into the person I’ve become.
I love traveling and especially loved my journey home over Easter weekend. There’s something so magical about boarding a plane in the middle of the night and waking up in the morning in a different part of the country. Time becomes irrelevant. I rocked back and forth like a metronome in my middle seat for the duration of my flight from Seattle to Minneapolis. Since I was wedged into place like a sardine in a tin, sleep eluded me. My neck was cramped, my back sore, my knees continually knocking the seat in front of me. Bleary eyed and happy that the larger portion of the journey was done, I transversed the entire airport to reach the satellite gates and stopped at Caribou Coffee along the way. With my earl gray caramel soy latte in hand, I perched myself next to two couples speaking with their thickly affected Midwestern accent on subjects such as Shopko. It felt good to be home…
Upon arriving “back at the ranch” as my dado always says, I crashed for a bit before mom and I headed out for lunch followed by a trip to the mall (as is customary.) The rest of the weekend was extraordinarily relaxing and fun. A large portion of my time was spent simply visiting. Visiting with family…visiting with friends. It felt so incredibly good to be back in my old familiar territory surrounded by people who love and miss having me around—people who I miss with every ounce of my being. Having moved away, I suppose that means too that I’ve “grown up” and branched out on my own but I still struggle with that concept—it’s a process of evolution, expansion, uncertainty and learning. Even now at 29, I wonder if I have grown up. I miss my mom. I miss my home. I miss being taken care of. But I suppose that’s a part of growth and life as well. The older I become, the more I appreciate things that I never thought were a very big deal.
Don’t get me wrong- I love the hustle and bustle of my life in Seattle: filling my schedule with after work drink dates, Bikram yoga classes, dinner parties, Opera, concerts and wine tasting. But no matter how far away I am…or how old I become…there’s simply no place like home.
I love traveling and especially loved my journey home over Easter weekend. There’s something so magical about boarding a plane in the middle of the night and waking up in the morning in a different part of the country. Time becomes irrelevant. I rocked back and forth like a metronome in my middle seat for the duration of my flight from Seattle to Minneapolis. Since I was wedged into place like a sardine in a tin, sleep eluded me. My neck was cramped, my back sore, my knees continually knocking the seat in front of me. Bleary eyed and happy that the larger portion of the journey was done, I transversed the entire airport to reach the satellite gates and stopped at Caribou Coffee along the way. With my earl gray caramel soy latte in hand, I perched myself next to two couples speaking with their thickly affected Midwestern accent on subjects such as Shopko. It felt good to be home…
Upon arriving “back at the ranch” as my dado always says, I crashed for a bit before mom and I headed out for lunch followed by a trip to the mall (as is customary.) The rest of the weekend was extraordinarily relaxing and fun. A large portion of my time was spent simply visiting. Visiting with family…visiting with friends. It felt so incredibly good to be back in my old familiar territory surrounded by people who love and miss having me around—people who I miss with every ounce of my being. Having moved away, I suppose that means too that I’ve “grown up” and branched out on my own but I still struggle with that concept—it’s a process of evolution, expansion, uncertainty and learning. Even now at 29, I wonder if I have grown up. I miss my mom. I miss my home. I miss being taken care of. But I suppose that’s a part of growth and life as well. The older I become, the more I appreciate things that I never thought were a very big deal.
Don’t get me wrong- I love the hustle and bustle of my life in Seattle: filling my schedule with after work drink dates, Bikram yoga classes, dinner parties, Opera, concerts and wine tasting. But no matter how far away I am…or how old I become…there’s simply no place like home.
Please note the above image is not representative of Appleton, Wisconsin but is simply an artistic rendering of the pastoral Wisconsin countryside. Appleton is a thriving mini-metropolis replete with many cultural and fine dining opportunities.
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