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I have spent these (nearly) last days of waning summer in my hometown in Chicago, in our old David Adler house which has a whole lot of rooms, zillions of spider webs and even more character.

Sitting on a couch we’ve had since the 80’s with its lining tattered, almost in total, its cotton innards, frayed, rough and exposed. We watched the Count of Monte Cristo, I was wearing baseball themed footie pajamas that are the relic of some party my parents had way back when.

I was sad and happy at the same time. Delighted that I was going to spend the weekend in South Hampton at Grey’s high school chum’s beach house (always know the right people!), but also sad to be leaving my sisters and brother behind. Sad to be leaving our seemingly endless conversations, all lying next to each other like pigs in a blanket, our eyes closed but listening to each other’s voices. It was all very calming.

–Even the most pleasant of moments seem to be slightly over shadowed and tainted by the creeping knowledge that things of an unpleasant nature are creeping in my direction. So much about the future is uncertain. Where will I live next year when my roommates and myself no longer have parental help with rent and loans to pay off? We can’t possibly stay in our current apartment, where we’re crunched in like rats as it is. What will happen next? PW has Silver and that’s a viable plan B but my only plan B is abandoning New York. I cannot possibly do that, or my heart will explode into a million pieces and everything I’ve worked for will surely be lost just like so many other post grads who move home and get comfortable in a cushy, uninteresting, un-stimulating existence. That won’t do for me.

Why can’t I just live in the moment? I wish I could embrace every moment completely. I wish I could look at that sunset and absorb it into my soul instead of thinking “this would make a really great insta” and turning it into a shallow snap shot seen through an Instagram filter. —

These last few days at home have been so amazing and rejuvenating. 14 hours of sleep a night, the only worry any of us had was if the DVD player was going to skip. It was nice for a few days but I am ready to get back to the city, back to the crazy ADD nature of it all.

I love the quiet of my home in Chicago, the smell of the fresh air and slightly mildewed carpet in the hallways and generously furnished rooms, but New York is where I belong. I don’t want to face a reality where I have to leave it.

Being home reminds you what your life to used to be like, and good or bad it makes you see how much you’ve really changed and how much that place, and those people have changed and shaped you

Those feelings can be overwhelming but they aren’t the kind of emotions one can just turn and run from. They are a part of you.

Being home brings you down to earth, in the most basic of terms. Whatever big shot life you have made for yourself, it doesn’t matter; home really is where the heart is, after all.

I loved the tenderness of the familiar, the old movies crackling on VHS tapes because my parents are too retro and in love with the vintage to cave to flat screens or cable. The smell of the moisture in summer soaked cushions in the living room, looking at the white stonewalls of our house covered in green ivy. It’s all these things that make home. They are the stuff of my childhood, of my being. I wrestle with my past and I try to be as thoroughly individualistic as I can possibly manage but I have to love these tiny pieces, these small fragments that have contributed to making me the woman I am and the woman I am becoming.

I love seeing how the pieces of our pasts have made my siblings so very much like me and how their own experiences have made them entirely their own people, my brother, CWE, so sharply witty and clever, my sister, CSE, so sweet, down to earth and ruggedly idealistic and CNE so street smart, loyal and brave.

I love coming home and I finding missing things I never even knew I didn’t have and I love coming back to New York, with those tools in hand, to find the rest of me that this ridiculous, overwhelming, exciting adventure called life has yet to reveal.