by Lauren Hewitt

Created on: September 30, 2008

When I was 21 years old, I packed up 13 boxes with the items I deemed worthy of the trip and moved across the country to complete my university degree. Having lived my entire life until that point in the same town I was born in, this was a tearful departure (to put it mildly). After all, I was leaving behind parents, grandparents and many wonderful friends to start a new life on my own in a much larger city I had only ever visited over a long weekend. While I was mostly excited about how my life was changing, a large part of me was terrified about what I would miss out on by leaving my life behind.

When I first decided to make this move, it was a two-year plan. Two years down the road, I had planned to be back on the plane, returning to my home and to all of those I love the most. I never even considered the possibility that life could throw me a curveball or two and that, five years down the road, I would find myself still enjoying life far from my family and friends. By the time I completed my degree, I had met my future husband and we'd gone and done what other couples our age were doing, namely buying a house and settling into jobs and routines. While life was comfortable, my weekly phone calls with my family would still leave me feeling tearful. If anything, I missed them more after five years than I did after the first year away and the idea of returning home to them was always in the back of my mind.

I was pretty lucky to be able to fly home to visit once or twice each year, dragging my poor guy across the country to do the "hard sell" on my hometown, noting the nicer weather, warmer winters and friendly people as reasons why we should try to relocate whenever our finances would allow us too. He loved the town, but as luck would have it, so did everyone else. In the years since I'd moved away, it had become one of the country's real estate hot spots, putting even the smallest condominium far out of our financial reach.

Our trips would always end on a somewhat depressing note, with me emotionally loaded down with memories and the realization of just how much I had missed out on since I'd moved away. We attended the wedding of a good friend of mine where my very first glimpse of the groom was seeing him standing at the altar, waiting for his bride. I met the toddlers of friends for the first time and knew that the next time I saw them, I'd be a stranger to them again. My grandparents were aging. My father's hair had gone from silver to white. And I'd missed all of it.

Sometimes it's hard to draw the line between how much of your life you life for yourself, and how much of it is tied to your roots. Life has moved me again, even further from my home and all of those people I try to hold close. Again, we made a decision based on our own goals and situation, leaving emotions out of it as much as possible. It was difficult, but I know we did the right thing, despite the fact that I now miss my family more than ever. We still have our weekly calls and, thanks to technology, I can see photos and updates from my friends as often as I like. However, until we can have those weekly chats in person, over a family dinner, without a return plane ticket lurking in the depths of my purse, a big part of me will always long for home.

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