Or at least it is now. I'm sitting in the Philly airport, enjoying my lengthy two and a half hour layover (that isn't sarcasm... I really do like layovers), so ready to be HOME for the first time since July. It's funny, because there's always such a love-hate relationship with where you're from, especially when it's a small town. You grow up conditioned to hate it, cutting down the people that stick around and vowing to pack up and get out after high school and never come back. But I think once you leave, it becomes easier to see how important that place was in defining the person you become in adulthood. Or really, defining the person you DON'T become. In some ways, my hometown had a more decisive role in helping me understand who I wasn't. Plus, when I think about all the incredible relationships I came out with- friends mentioned in my 2nd grade journal, strong family ties- I can't help but take back all the criticisms I have from when I was younger. Then again, those things are hard to grasp when all you think about is the endless gossip chain and the lack of things to do.
I say this with all my 23 years of wisdom (THAT was sarcasm). Maybe the moment I finally embraced my hometown came when I could start drinking legally, because as anyone from there knows the bar life is one of its redeeming qualities. I think I'll stick with mushy, sentimental reason. And with that, my flight's boarding!
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