It’s a Growing Pain–Homesick in Iowa

This morning I woke up with an all-too-familiar jolt. My dream, which had nothing to do with home or my family, somehow led to me to wake up with tears in my eyes. For a brief, agonizing moment, I desperately wished I was six years old again. I actually shut my eyes and pretended I had gone back in time. I pretended I would wake up and see my mom (who looks the same now as she did then). I would have cheerios for breakfast and go to school, but ultimately, I was always happy to go home at the end of the afternoon. I wish I could be totally dependent on my parents again, I thought. I don’t want to take care of myself anymore. I want to go back. In that moment, the world seemed a terrifying, uncertain place, and all I wanted to do was go home with my family and my chihuahua.

Within several minutes, (it was about 10 AM) my mom called me, and hearing her calm, matter-of-fact voice pulled me back to reality. I am five hours away, and having a great time in college. Sometimes, though, I would really like to be able to go home for dinner, or for a couple hours. I hate being completely removed from what goes on in the daily lives of my family members. Am I the only one here who still gets terribly homesick?

On the other hand, I don’t want to stop missing home. I will never be like the many American adults who only see their families on holidays and special occasions.

Lots of people I know feel very disconnected with their families, but I am on the opposite end of the spectrum. I have a heightened awareness of the fact that I have a place in a greater family legacy. I sometimes think about my ancestors, the hardy Swedish famers and farmers’ wives, Revolutionary War soldiers, Russian Jews, French nobles, eccentric Brits… I wonder what they would think of me. I also know that everything I am, I owe to them. I hope they aren’t too scandalized by their outspoken great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter. Sometimes I think I can hear them telling me to keep moving, to keep trying harder, to take advantage of this wonderful life.

I am also constantly upstaged by my artistic siblings–my gorgeous sister, who will be a household name fashion designer one day, and my musically talented, guitar-playing, ladies’ man brother, are at times weird or irritating, but as they get older, they keep getting cooler and cooler…than me. It’s funny to me that my two relatively non-artistic parents produced a musician, artist and writer.

Speaking of my parents, my mother, a free-spirited California girl with classic fashion sense but a new-age, hippie soul, is completely beautiful and fiercely independent. She is an amazing cook (one of those itimidating, intuitive cooks who just “make up” every delicious thing they create), a great dresser, and has the best people skills of anyone I have ever met. She talks a lot, uses big hand gestures and finds a way to relate everything to a larger, universal meaning. and I will never live up to her.

My dad is, quite possibly, the sweetest guy in the whole world. He knows a lot, too. An avid reader and learner for the sake of learning, I have profited immensely from his extensive history book library. He also has an incredible, rare amount of faith in people, and loyalty to his family. I have had the privilege of growing up in a house with parents who have stayed together, and have created a stable, loving family environment, in which I always felt taken-care-of and safe. There is no better gift you can give someone.

When you think about it, parenting is kind of ridiculous. It also implies that family loyalty is something inherent to humans as a species. For instance, parents make a baby, and, without knowing anything about the individual (who could very well grow up to be the kind of kid who pulls legs off grasshoppers for fun, or becomes a serial killer) they (ideally) put the baby’s wellbeing above their own. I know I caused my parents many sleepless nights! 

While I’m not selfish, I am also not a give-the-piece-of-cake-with-the-biggest-frosting-rose-to-someone-else kind of person. I obviously have a lot to learn about love and life before I will be in the position to do what my parents did and continue to do. Don’t worry mama, I will meet a nice boy in law school and ONLY GET MARRIED AFTER I HAVE MY J.D. Like I promised.

My love for my family, ancestral and present, is what motivates everything I do. Being on my own for the first time is still scary, and on mornings like these, I wake up with that fear in my heart–that fear that everything moves too fast and I can’t keep up. It’s the same fear I had when I was little and my mom stepped away from the swingset, telling me to pump my legs and move the swing myself. I was reluctant, and nervous not to feel her reassuring hands, but gradually, I got used to it. My little twig legs, unsure of them though I was, led me skyward that day. I know I am mostly grown up, but I think there will always be that small part of me that misses being pushed on the swing.

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