Home, they say that’s where the heart is.
After graduating from college, I had the opportunity to go and work in West Palm Beach for a blissful couple of months. I lived by a glittering ocean, met some of my very best friends, and had the time of my life. Fast forward to today, I find myself back in small town USA. Back where I first started. My hometown of Florence, Alabama. Wasn’t I supposed to have it all figured out by now? A new city, a new career, a whole new start? Moving back to my hometown was never a part of the grand plan. Yet here I am. Not only am I back in my hometown; I’m literally living on the same street I grew up on.
About a month ago, my parents asked me to go with them to look at a house on Palisade that they were thinking about buying; the Mitchell house. I was told to keep and open mind and that it needed a lot of work (aka a total gut job). But when I walked through the front door, I instantly knew that the Mitchell house was about to become the Harris house. And just like that, we were back on Palisade Drive.
I’ve convinced myself that the move back home will be a brief “transition period” for myself. I want to quickly figure everything out, and quickly get out of here. Because honestly, I never pictured myself coming back home. To me it meant I might not be living up to my full potential. But turning left onto my old street, I became overwhelmed with nostalgia. Seeing giddy kids eager to sell lemonade, the well-kept manicured lawns, neighbors welcoming you back with cheese straws. Memories of my childhood flooded my mind.
Palisade Drive. A street where all the houses are called by name. Specifically, the name of the family who built them. In 21 years and on just this one street, I have lived in the Hill house, the Reeder house, the Parker house, and now the Mitchell house. Like all of the houses on this street, each one is very different in its design and architecture. Yet, one thing remained the same in all of the houses: I was making memories. It’s where I learned how to do cartwheels in the front yard. It’s where I danced on countertops and sang my lungs out. It was creaky wood floors and neighborhood trick or treating. It was neighbors that wave and come visit you and your dog. It’s where my best friends and I laughed until we cried playing dress-up and making crazy videos of ourselves. Each house holds memories for me that can never be replaced. In a way, these houses built me. And I wouldn’t trade the childhood this neighborhood gave me for anything.
Now that I’m back, my perspective has changed. I no longer feel the urgent need to get out. I know I won’t be here forever, but I realize that the time I do get to spend here is a gift, and I want to enjoy every second of it.
Home may be where the heart is, but for me, Palisade will always be home and will always hold a piece of my heart.
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Also a major thank you for being patient with me, more frequent blog posts are coming 🙂