An Anniversary Celebrating a Dream Come True and a Strong Sense of Home

Thank You Notes #52

Not all anniversaries call for a greeting card, a flower delivery, or a candlelight dinner. And just because you might be the only person who remembers a particular anniversary date doesn’t mean it’s insignificant. Each year when December 26th rolls around, I think back to the day on which one of my long-time wishes finally came true—when I moved back to my hometown after living away for almost a decade.

Why the date itself is so easy to remember.

The year was 1999 and the Y2K threat was all over the headlines. It was predicted that transitioning from December 31, 1999, to January 1, 2000, would wreak havoc on computers and networks all over the world. Government officials, industry experts, and computer programmers were all trying to get ahead of what could have been a disaster, but the turn of the calendar didn’t live up to the hype as most glitches were resolved in a matter of days and/or weeks.

In preparing to pack up the moving truck and relocate to a new house approximately 200 miles away, with two young children on the day after Christmas, the Y2K bug was merely white noise in the background of a pretty chaotic week. But decades later, it’s that time in history that always helps me remember exactly when I returned home to live.

Why that date is so important to me.

I got married in my early twenties and reluctantly settled into my husband’s hometown immediately thereafter. I eventually learned to love it there, getting to know his side of the family better, making new friends, and carving out an interesting career. When we started having kids, I became even more rooted in our surrounding community, and I’ll be forever grateful for the relationships I formed there.

But there was always something nagging at me. The pull of home. As a young mother, I craved that sense of familiarity that never goes away, wanting my children to experience many of the things that I did growing up—in the same spots, with the same people, and with that same “sense of place” that still lived in my heart.

So, when my husband was presented with the opportunity for a job transfer back to my home state, it was a no-brainer for me. Together we made the decision to say goodbye to many of the connections we had developed to start a new chapter in my old stomping grounds.

Was it a good decision?

Yes. We’ve been blessed with a good life — filled with ups and downs that we’ve embraced and tackled together. I now understand how that initial move away from home was really good for me. It made me more independent, confident, and adventuresome. I learned things about myself that I may not have had the opportunity to explore if I hadn’t stepped outside my comfort zone, but I was ready to return home.

Was it everything I expected it to be?

Of course not. There are countless reiterations of the phrase “You Can’t Go Home Again,” perhaps first made famous by the novel of the same name by Thomas Wolfe. Why? Because there’s so much truth to those five simple words.

While I was technically able to live out my desire to physically move home, the “me” who returned had been emotionally and spiritually altered during my absence. The streets and landmarks of my youth were still there, but I was seeing them through a new lens. The eyes of a child are much different than those of an adult and a parent, making my homecoming more of a new journey than a return to life as I once knew it.

I don’t consider that a bad thing—to the contrary in fact. The experience itself opened my eyes to a fresh set of possibilities. We’re always learning and growing; discovering new things about ourselves and our surroundings. That’s something to celebrate and one more reason that date in my personal history has become such an important anniversary.

The greater significance of my “moving home” anniversary.

As I write this, all three of my children are living at least 100 miles away from our family home. I love that they’re out “doing their thing” and admire how they’ve grown into strong and curious adults. They are paving new paths, chasing big dreams, and figuring out how to pick themselves up when life knocks them off their feet.

But in the back of my mind, there’s this tiny voice — another nagging undercurrent of white noise. I hope the “pull of home” tugs at their heartstrings the same way it tugged at mine. Perhaps someday they’ll be ready to move back like I did and then we can celebrate that anniversary too.

I don’t expect it to be the same, but it will always be home, and there’s no place like it!