You can't go home again. Can you?
Honestly, I never thought I could. The house where I grew up is no longer where my parents dwell. Many people who surrounded me as a young person are far from the area. Even the familiar sights and sounds are colored by a different perspective – perhaps that perspective comes from maturity, new priorities, and/or additional experiences gained. In any case, perspective can be advantageous. Or not so much.
When I return to my hometown to visit my folks, I'm struck by how different I feel. I'm no longer the teenager that requires a curfew. I'm no longer a bored tween who impatiently waits for my parents to finish up their dreadfully dull small talk with a neighbor. I'm sort-of a member of the adult community.
And yet, I'm sort-of not.
