When Homesickness Meets Wanderlust

Distance is a funny thing. Just the thought of it can change a person’s attitude. For example, when I first went away to Wellesley I was moving 1000 miles away from home, away from the only place I’d ever really lived and gotten to know, away from everyone I’d ever really known and understood. Many of my relatives (many of whom will read this, I’m sure) came to my graduation party and told me how much they were going to miss me, and how it wasn’t going to be the same without me around, even though in reality I would still see most of them about the same as I normally would. This isn’t anything against my sentimental and caring relatives, it’s just funny how the very thought of someone being far away and out of your immediate reach can make you miss them. 

I was talking with my brother a week or so ago, as he was adjusting to his first year at college and his first year far away from home. He said that sometimes it was just hard, and that even if there wasn’t anything in particular at home that you missed, somehow you stilled missed home as a whole. It’s the distance itself, I told him, just knowing how far away you are from any and all safety nets, that thought alone sits heavy, like a rock in your stomach, making you ache a little. The distance and the sense of familiarity. When you move far away, everything is new, and that's exciting, but it's also so alien and unfamiliar, and often trips you up as you go along. Two years ago I was in the same boat as my brother, moving far away from home, and two years later I tacked on another 3,000 miles and had to go through so many things again. 

It’s funny how quickly something so far away and unknown can become your normal, everyday life. You may have read about my adventures in culture shock in some previous posts, and yet in the course of just 3 weeks, although I’m not completely adjusted, I now know where to get my groceries and how and when to get to my classes or catch the bus back to my residence. I’ve settled into a mini routine that covers most of my day-to-day life. 

But at the same time, there will be little things that send me into a spiraling bout of homesickness. I wanted to buy a few more pairs of socks the other day, and normally I would just head to Target…and I suddenly realized that I had no idea where I would go here to buy socks, where I would even start to look. Or if I wanted to get a pair of sturdier shoes for the rain, where would I go? There isn’t a Target, or Payless, or DSW here. It’s infantilizing and scary and deeply unsettling when you don’t know how even the most basic things work. 

Sometimes I’ll just start thinking about my dog’s head and his fuzzy ears, and how he lets out a sigh when he plops down on the sofa, and suddenly I’ll be really sad. Or sometimes, when it’s really gray and rainy out, I’ll think about fall at home. There is a crisp brightness in the fall at Wellesley: all the lines feel more defined and there is a distinct and brisk clarity in the air. Here, everything feels a little muddled and blurred by the constant and inescapable mist. And sometimes the heater is just too hot, or the room is just too cold or damp, or my bed is too squeaky, or my sheets are too scratchy, or I just don’t have enough socks, and there are a million post it notes on the wall nagging me with all the things I have to do. 

It’s the littlest things that push you over the edge when you’re already dealing with the shock of suddenly finding yourself in a completely foreign and alien place. I remember after my first week at Wellesley, I tried to do my laundry for the first time, and I didn’t understand what washer settings were what temperatures and somehow ended up shrinking all of my pants. I was utterly horrified when I pulled everything out of the dryer and discovered I was left with ill-fitting capris instead of regular length jeans. I ended up running out into the courtyard in the middle of the night and calling my mom in tears. It was the first moment I thought I had made a mistake, the first moment I thought about turning around and giving up. She calmed me down and that weekend my roommate took me Gap and I bought some new pants, and I successfully completed 2 years at Wellesley. I always think back to that moment, though, I laugh at it now and try to remember how hopeless I felt in that moment when I’m having a hard time here. 

Nevertheless, the weight of the Atlantic Ocean weighs on me sometimes, sitting heavy on my chest, making it hard for me to breath. Sometimes I just miss “safe”. Sometimes I get tired of “new” and “exciting” and “unknown”. Maybe this is just the second stage of culture shock talking, or maybe it’s just always kind of hard to be away from home. Facing a challenge is always infinitely more scary when everything and everyone around you is unfamiliar. It’s like learning how to swim: always easier when your parents are right next to you at the neighborhood pool than when you inexplicably find yourself stranded in the middle of the ocean. 

Despite all of this moaning and groaning, I forge ahead. I think the toughest thing, really, is reconciling all of my wistfulness and homesickness with my incurable wanderlust. As much as I miss home sometimes, I can’t help but want to see more, to go further, to keep traveling away from home, at least for now. I lived in and around Chicago for most of my life, and I became so claustrophobic I had to move 1000 miles away to Wellesley. When I’m in one place for too long, I start to get restless, but when I’m away, especially far away, I feel so sad for the distance. It’s a hard thing to balance, but I just keep reminding myself that this is a big, old world, and that I want to soak up as much of it as I can. So, whenever I’m feeling lonely, when ever that distance pushes itself up to the front of my mind, I make myself a big cup of tea, I ask my mom to send me some pictures of my dog, and I put on an episode of Gilmore Girls—then when I wake up the next day, I look forward to every unknown and scary thing out there. 

“Dear old world…you are very lovely, and I am happy to be alive in you.” 

--L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

(I mean, I've already seen every single episode, but who wouldn't feel a sense of comfort from this? It's like having a hug from my own mom)