We're having Fall Break at my university next week (for friends in the north, it's like a miniature Spring Break--we get next Thursday and Friday off.) I'm heading to Boise for the 4-day weekend. I love the fall in Idaho, so I'm looking forward to having some time among the turning leaves. Fall is the one thing I really miss here in Texas. I thought I'd miss winter when we moved here, but not so much. Turns out you can live a long and happy life without snow.
I'm a little nervous about my trip home, though--partly because my dad's health has been declining pretty steadily for the last few years, and I haven't seen him since this time last year, when we flew to Boise for my niece's wedding. I'm expecting to be shocked by how much he's aged, and I know that caring for him is taking a toll on my mother as well. I doubt either of them will look like the people I remember. Beyond having to face these rather difficult realities, though, I'm always a little nervous about going to Boise.
I know that sounds silly. How can you be nervous about visiting your home town? But these are the facts: I never felt like Boise was where I belonged. After I left Idaho, I fell in love with the idea of it; while I was living there, I couldn't wait to leave. I love mountains, and I always feel at home when I'm within visual distance of them. The smell of pine trees makes me deeply happy in a way few things do. But being in Boise makes me remember how it felt to be a powerless teenager in a place I just didn't belong, which is a feeling I'd just as soon forget.
It's not that I don't like the place. On the contrary, I really love my little hometown. It's just that I don't know how to be there as a grown-up, I guess.
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