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…then mine must be torn in two.

A couple of weekends ago I traveled home for my dear cousins’ wedding in which I was the maid of honor. While the plane was landing in Manchester,NH I was giddy with excitement. I could see the bright leaves on all of the trees as we were landing, and I knew I’d be seeing some people whom I love very much. Being home was a whirlwind. I tried to pack as much in as physically possible and still was not able to do/see it all. Most of my time home was for the wedding, so anything outside of that was hard to make happen.

While I was driving down all the familiar roads that were scattered with leaves all I could think of is this is home. These roads, and trees are home. Texas is so vastly different from New Hampshire. But as comforting as it was to be in familiar landscape, it was also depressing. I knew that soon all of the leaves would fall and the ground would be covered in crisp pure snow, but that white snow would turn brown, and to ice, and would not leave till April.  It wasn’t only imagining the endless gray winters that was depressing, it was the people too. As I walked around the mall, went to restaurants, and other things I noticed that people in New England seemed less approachable, and open. There was a hardness to most people’s faces that gave the appearance of being closed. People in Texas make more eye contact, walk around with a more content expression, and even dress “brighter”. Is any of this making sense?

Coming home this time was also weird because for the first time, I didn’t have a place there. I didn’t have a location to call home, a place where I lived. I was a visitor. I was hoping that my return to Texas would solidify my feelings of where I belong, but I am still on the fence. New Hampshire is home, and I cannot imagine not raising children there. But in Texas I am building a new home, of community.

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