“Home” Away from Home

I went home for the holidays. I flew home to see my parents and my family. I never used to be one of those people, one of the ones they say has a hard time during the holidays. Well, at thirty-five, I have become one.

I packed, got on the plane, said goodbye to my boyfriend, and landed at “home.” I put my suitcase down in “my” room and took a few minutes just to browse. My parents have yet to move out of my childhood home, so when I go, I am fortunate enough to be continually exposed to all my piano certificates, sports trophies, big bangs pictures, old high school crush photos (complete with notes on the back), and meaningless tchotchkes lined in dust on my shelves. You would think I would have smiled, laughed, and climbed in bed. But I stared at these things as if I was looking in a mirror—and then felt slightly disturbed. That was the beginning.

I was immediately transferred from my childhood room to my parents’ car for a road trip to family a few hours away. This was nowhere near any old friends, so I was thrown into the scene without any hope of healthy distraction. My phone didn’t ring much. It hit me hard. I immediately realized the focus of the holiday was not me, not the family time together, but the family toddler. Now, don’t get me wrong, I was really excited about the quality time I was going to get with my niece. But between coloring books and snack time I found my mind wandering to the reality of life at home, dictated by naps, feeding and store runs, which combined, ate up an entire day. My enthusiasm for my sister’s new house and my parents’ nearby weekend retreat was overshadowed by my amazement at how involved they had become in each other’s lives. Though it had only been a few months since I had been there, I suddenly felt like a fish out of water.

I was conscious of this so I tried to relax and participate. Still, my head kept getting distracted by things happening under the surface. My family’s fears and neuroses seemed more obvious, more prevalent. The frustrated comments my sister spoke under her breath to her husband seemed loud and clear. I wanted to dive into a conversation about jobs or boyfriends or friends or apartments or anything I felt I could relate to. Instead we kept going back to the safe topic of our toddler’s next move.