After almost three delayed flights, an order of lettuce wraps from the Atlanta airport’s PF Changs, and almost 24 hours of travel, I was happy to be home. I got to see my best friends, drive on my favorite highway (is this just a California thing? ok), and eat a lot of raw fish. My mom noticed almost immediately that all I wanted to talk about was the weather, which shows that I’m definitely adjusting nicely. It didn’t take long for my habits to recalibrate to the way things were before I left. I subconsciously rerouted myself to my old high school, merged into a nonexistent lane, and missed a sunset in the mountains because of the fog. I knew I was truly back home when my dad thought it was entirely justified to make a fire at a balmy 66 degrees.
But at the same time, I realized that a lot of my life wasn’t there anymore. Someone once told me that you’re first Thanksgiving feels like going home, and then after that it slowly starts to feel like you’re going back to your parents house. While this is mostly terrifying to me because it implies that my new home is a 10 x 10 room, it’s also sort of great to have a place truly my own. At this point, everything’s sort of fluid, and I’ve learned to just go with it.
My Thanksgiving break was both good and weird. I’m aware that this isn’t unique because all of my close friends and fellow first year Thrill writers had that same thought. This wasn’t my first time going back home to Lexington, KY* (reading daze, amiright) but I was ready for round two. A lot of the time, I didn’t feel completely separate from Kenyon; this is where most of the “weird” came in. Three of my close friends from back home drove to Gambier to pick me up and throughout the week I would hang out with another Kenyon first year** who was also from Lexington. This was like the textbook definition of “worlds colliding”. Of course being home was nice because parents, pets, bathtubs, etc. But my brother thought it was okay to move into my old room, so I lived out of my suitcase in our “guest room” – the entirely too generous name for a glorified closet that happened to have enough space to fit a futon. Believe it or not, I didn’t spend a ton of time in there. But aside from being with my family and friends, I was really excited to not think about classwork for a week. I mean, I should have been thinking about classwork, but I didn’t. I’m dealing with that now. It’s fine. Everything is okay. I definitely didn’t just spill an entire Wiggins Street Mocha into the carpet of third floor Olin, what are you talking about? I’m golden.
*Also known as LexTown, LexVegas, HORSE CAPITAL OF THE WORLD, and/or The City in Kentucky That Isn’t Louisville
**S/O Clay Whiteheart ‘18