It is Saturday of Labor Day weekend, and I'm where any good little Yankee with an ounce of class would find herself today: At the Jersey Shore. MMM, fresh salty air and jubilant surf. The company is sexy, the weather perfect, and the food BARBEQUE. (Yes,with veggie options. Because I'm cute, and gifted with a winning smile, duh.)
It's been a while since I've had my feet in the sand and saltwater in my hair, so, naturally, I was soon blindsided: homesick. Bam. Thanks for being unexpected at the beach, homesickness. I hate you because it is complicated between us: it's hard to define what my roots are, making "homesickness" weird.
The ocean has a pretty good argument, albeit cliched. Having grown up in Virginia's most beautiful city (DROP), there is little I count more refreshing than reconnecting with the sea: "O ye, whose eyes are tired and vexed! / Feast them upon the wideness of the sea!*" VaBch the city is energetic and ever-changing, a huge benefit to someone as fast-paced as I. The ocean itself is my favorite mystery: the shore is but a whisper of what lies beyond, a prologue to endless tales of the sights it has seen ... on a clear day you can see miles and miles into the great blue unknown. Growing up on the oceanfront, the sound of the waves was a constant hypnotic force (terrorist seagull cries aside): the ocean will always be new, fresh, exciting, unpredictable, strong ... Sometimes, I need the ocean to go home to.
But I go home to the hills of Tennessee for the winter holidays. Nashville is home to slow-talking, kindhearted people with a belief in the strength of community. Good home cooking was born there, beside long conversations on the porch and loving your neighbors as fortuitous family. The mountains are solemn and ancient; you get a sense they've always been there and always will be, unchanging and proud. The skies are so clear and there are far too many stars to allow for darkness. My family has farms and fishing holes and soft accents and big hugs. There is snow, which Virginia only occasionally allows. Sometimes, and at least annually, I need to go home to Nashville.
In some ways this inconsistency and love of different cultures is a blessing. I'm embracing a terrific sense of wanderlust lately: I love to travel, look forward to exploring new lifestyles, and enjoy doing awesome things like eating my way through new cities with unexpected local fare. [Ed Note: This is a cheesesteak shout-out.] I am even so stoked to spend time in NJ: the Shore is pretty much totally awesome, if no VB.
Still the "where do I belong?" question persists and nags during beach time. Presumably, this has more to do with finding who I am and where I want to be than nostalgia. This in itself is frustrating, you guys: I am the person I want to be, even as I learn every day who that person is. I have the rest of my life to grow into myself and it's a journey that's already underway. Not that any of that makes sense, but whatevs. You get it.
I worry that this means I'll always be homesick. Or never find closure. Though maybe it means I just don't know what "home" is yet and that's part of the journey.
In any case, back to beaching it and maybe some illumination.
* John Keats, "On the Sea,"1817
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