I remember the first time I came back to Barcelona for it to feel like home. I had taken my first solo trip ever to Nice, France (a subject for another newsletter!), and I did so many things by myself that I had never been brave enough to do before. I took a train to a tiny town to learn how to make croissants in an ungodly hot miniature apartment in the middle of August. I even took myself out on a date where I put on my new favorite yellow, vintage dress and went to a fancy restaurant alone. The trip was fantastic, but what I remember most is coming back to my little Spanish apartment, sinking into my familiar bed, and feeling that cozy feeling that only happens when you return home.
Returning home is one thing, but returning home home is another. That’s my term for my origin home. Where my parents live. Where I was an awkward teenager who seemed to grow only horizontally for years, until it was all vertical all at once, one particular summer.
To me, going home home validates something that has only become more apparent to me as I’ve gotten older, which is that two things can be true at the same time. Being in the place I grew up is simultaneously the most comfortable place for me to be while also being incredibly uncomfortable. It sweetly reminds me of the parts of myself that I miss while the parts of me that I’d rather forget rear their ugly heads, whether I like it or not.
That’s the thing about expanding your horizons. And no, I don’t just mean my specific experience of moving abroad. What I do mean is that when you grow up, meet new people, and have your own individual experiences, you change as a person. And I’m a big believer that when someone tells you that you’ve changed, it should be taken as a compliment. But, I think that part of becoming your truest self is staying connected to who you have been, not just who you are in this present moment.
Ages ago, I read a book ages ago called “Chasing Slow.” This was at the height of my minimalism phase, and this book massively changed the way I approach consumerism and the pursuit of a face-paced life, in general. But, one idea really stuck with me, all these years later. The author, Erin Loechner, said something to the effect of
“I don’t think I need to be best friends with every past version of myself, but I would like to at least be able to sit down across the table from each of them and enjoy a nice meal together.”
My past self can feel like anything from an old friend I lost touch with who can pick things up right where they left off to trying to put on my old cheerleading uniform that used to fit me like a glove before my metabolism decided to slow down. Reacquainting myself with myself is beautiful and painful, all wrapped up in one. Above all, I want to treat my past self with compassion, love, and understanding. Sometimes, that’s easier said than done.
When I am staying in my parents’ home, I slip back into old dynamics. I’m ordinarily a pretty neat person, but my room is an absolute mess anytime I’m there. I still find myself, a grown woman, curating my words in conversations with them to the Nth degree and hiding parts of myself I think they don’t like…music, opinions, stories, etc (I’m working on it).
But you know something else? I sing when I’m at home home! Growing up, anytime my dad and I were in the car together, he would put on a song and say “find a harmony” until I could. Now, my little brother is an incredible guitar player, so we turn into the Wilson Family Singers anytime the three of us are together. It’s a part of myself I wish I humored a bit more in my day-to-day life. I also feel incredibly creative when I’m at home home. A lot of the time, during my life in the city, I have to work for my creativity a bit more. At home home, it just flows. Home home is a place for unearthing. Buried treasure. Weeds. All of it.
Home home is a place for unearthing. Buried treasure. Weeds. All of it.
Currently, I’m sitting on my twin bed at my parents’ house with my feet propped up, because my feet are tired from helping my mom paint stuff all day. The sounds of my brother practicing guitar and my mom putting in a new load of laundry float up the stairs. Being here sets into motion every emotion all the past versions of myself know so well, but here, in this moment, I’m feeling grateful.
Anyway, I hope this newsletter was okay! No worries if not! Talk soon! Bye!
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