Home Again

Almost one year after I said goodbye to the United States, I boarded a 13 hour plane bound for the Los Angeles International Airport. On tiny screens in the middle of the aisles, the Iberia flight showed The Great Gatsby. While I like the book, I'm not a particular fan of the movie—too much flash and not enough substance—but nevertheless the film's final words (taken verbatim from the novel) echoed in my head.

Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter — tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther.... And one fine morning —
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

It's one of my favorite concluding paragraphs in literature, one that particularly resonates with me. I am unfortunately a nostalgic person. I have the tendency to reminisce and to miss bygone years, while letting my present pass me by. I've spent the past year in Spain, working at a decent job, involved in a good relationship, and occasionally traveling. Yet, I can't resist comparing to my final years of college, where I still lived close to my friends and we saw each other every weekend.

Moving on is part of adulthood. People change cities, get married, have kids (or don't). Some get great jobs and some still live with their parents. Before graduation, we had our lives more or less laid out in similar trajectories, taking classes and studying for exams. After graduation, some people (myself included) moved back home. Some started working. Some continued to grad school. Some changed states. I changed countries. It's normal. It's what happens. But I have still had trouble accepting that it's time for a new phase.

Anyway, I've spent several paragraphs waxing philosophical about The Great Gatsby while failing to address the whole point of this post: my trip home. For the first two weeks of September, I flew back to the good ol' US of A. My first year in Spain was admittedly a bit lonely. I spent many weekends sitting in my apartment, playing the Sims or refreshing Facebook for the 1,000^th time. I missed living down the street from my friends, where every weekend we would hang out together and play video games. I had been away from California for a year, and I was looking forward to reconnecting with everyone.

I came home expecting to be embraced by the familiarity of my home country, and I was surprised to experience reverse culture shock. Flying into Los Angeles, I was overwhelmed by the immense concrete sprawl. I wandered through my grocery store and marveled at the jumbo tub of nacho cheese. Was everything always this big?

I also had to face the more sobering reality that my friends were no longer available to hang out, either due to distance, responsibilities, lack of interest, or some combination. I suppose I had anticipated that people would be more eager to see me stateside. Instead, my phone remained silent for my duration home (unless you count the “wrong number” who told me they loved me. Thanks, dude).

That isn't to say that I had a bad time. At the very least I was able to spend lots of time with my family during those two weeks. With my dad, I went on a 7-mile hike and a few 19-mile bike rides. With my mom, I went shopping (I really missed Target of all places). We went to the beach and out to dinner. I spent my afternoons relaxing on the couch or playing with my cats.

In many ways, the trip home served as a reminder that my life is forming here in Spain now. I didn't realize that until I went home and felt foreign. I will always miss the states. My family is there, and there are customs I'm not willing to let go of (holidays, food, etc). But now it's time to let go of the past and focus on my life here.