The moment our car drives over the line into Terre Haute, Indiana, my stomach becomes tense. I always have mixed emotions about visiting my hometown—excited to see family and friends, but not quite prepared for the onslaught of guilt I have for leaving. I wanted to leave the moment I was old enough to realize there was a world outside of the city limits of this semi-small Indiana town, but every time I return I secretly resent the fact that life has gone on without me.
After college, I returned to Terre Haute—had a wonderful job, got married and even had two of my three children in the very same hospital where I was born. I really tried to get comfortable with the idea that I might never leave, but something kept pulling me in a different direction. Then I came across the straw that broke the camel’s back. In the middle of a presentation to a prospective client, the VP of the company (who also happened to be a childhood friend) raised his hand and asked, “Hey, what was the name of that boy that sat in front of you in Chemistry?” It was this question that made me realize there would always be some people in this town who would refuse to see me as an adult—they would only see me as their high school friend or the daughter of Cecil and Nancy.
We left several months after that presentation and have been gone for almost 12 years. However, every time we return, I come face to face with the reality that it isn’t this town that refused to let me grow up, it was me. I am the one that still sees everything—and everybody—through the eyes of an 18 year-old girl and my heart breaks just a little more each time when I realize that life has truly moved on without me.
A few weeks ago I spent a rainy Saturday morning sitting in a Terre Haute Starbucks enjoying the anonymity that comes with visiting places outside of your regular ‘hood. Every single person that walked through the door knew someone inside this busy little coffee shop—from the people behind the counter to the older man who sat in the back corner quietly reading the local paper. It was truly one of those Cheers moments where “everyone knows your name.” Except for me—I sat by the window watching the rain as I emotionally moved myself from a place of comfort to agitation. It was as if I was sitting at a party where I wasn’t really invited.
Even the people that looked vaguely familiar to me looked right past me—not even stopping to think that perhaps we had once been friends (OK, not great friends, but in a smaller town your friend circles do tend to overlap). There they stood with their spouses and children—obviously having moved way past the days of high school football games and parties. They had accomplished what I had failed to do—become a real life adult in a town that holds every single piece of my childhood.
How fun it must be to raise your kids in the same town where you grew up—attending the same schools, shopping at the same stores, knowing the same people. My kids and I will never have this type of shared experience—which is why, when we make our trips to Terre Haute, I spend countless hours taking them down unmarked roads and past homes that no longer house the families I once knew. And just when I think the cause is lost….
“Mom, can we get ice cream from Green Acres and go see the ‘Spooky Tree’?’” my son asks from the backseat.
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