I grew up on the Jersey Shore. And even though it felt like home while I was living there, it certainly doesn’t anymore. Over the years the area’s changed so profoundly that I barely recognize it. What was once a town where everyone knew one another has become a large, ugly place characterized by traffic gridlock, suburban sprawl, and over population.
After graduating college, I moved to suburban Philadelphia. And though I lived there for nearly thirty years, somehow it never really felt like home. To me, home is a place where you feel truly comfortable. Truly yourself. And suburban PA, with it’s shopping malls, heavy traffic, and housing developments, didn’t do it for me, either.
Then a few years ago I moved to Vermont. Something about the area spoke to me, unlike any other place I’d been. When I entered the state, I could feel my soul exhale. And though I’ve only been here a few years and will never be considered a native (the old timers will always call me a “flatlander”), to me, it is truly home.
Everyone defines home differently. My parents and sister think my move to the Green Mountain State is just short of madness. They’re perfectly happy in Florida in an environment that’s the complete opposite of where I live. Florida — well, let’s just say it’s not for me.
A friend of mine, Jessica Keener, has started a blog called Confessions of a Hermit Crab, where you can share your joys, sorrows, and reflections about home. And even though it has nothing to do with skiing, I encourage you to pay it a visit. Because even after we’re done skiing, we all have to go home. Why not talk about it.