Last weekend was my first trip back to Orange County. I spent the bulk of the time with family, normal moments that wouldn’t have been out of place five months ago. We ate matzo ball soup, laughed at corny jokes, and told embarrassing stories of years past.* I saw some of my dearest friends, and we chatted as though I still lived below the LA county line.
It was the little moments that were strange. My mom moved soon after I did, so I was staying in unfamiliar places. I was sitting in LAX, an airport I grew up at, and having the thought I’m going home. It was startling, the realization that Orange County isn’t my home, that lives moved on without me, and the void that I left was not irreplaceable. Sure my family cannot replace me with another daughter/niece/cousin. But I probably talk with then more now than I did then. Even in my crazy busy moments,** I’m always an email or a facebook message away.
There were two unexpected moments that were perfect for a surprise trip home. I told very few people outside of my family that I was heading down, because I simply knew that I wouldn’t have time to see everyone. But on Saturday morning, I made a pit stop at my old restaurant. I was there for about ten minutes, but I was able to see so many of my old friends. We exchanged hugs, and I remembered how close we all once were. I miss them, and I’m glad that I didn’t try to replicate them up here. I’m glad that my life is so different. Next time I’ll spend more time with them.
Next time. Who knows when that will be?
The other moment was on Sunday evening, Easter. I was meeting some friends, and, in typical Maile fashion, I was running early. Feeling nostalgic, I decided to stop at my old theatre bar for a drink. I went in, and it was virtually empty. Easter Sunday, and all. I grabbed a quick drink, and chatted with the bartender, sounding like one of those old crazy people. ”I moved out of the area, and I used to come here all the time when you were in your old location. I had to stop by.” She humored me, and cocktail finished, I left the bar, prepared to update my facebook with a snarky update about how the bar was empty. And as I’m getting in my car, BAM, I see someone I know. A handful of former theatre colleagues appeared, and I agreed to stay for another drink. We chatted about shows, and my new life. Like with the restaurant, I had this overwhelming sense of community. Of a world that once upon a time, I was an important part of.
My life has changed. I’m still getting to know my new coworkers. My local friends are scattered about, not close enough for an impromptu day at the park. My life is so hectic, I’m not sure if I’d be up for such unpredictability. But one day, I’d like to have that sense of community again.
Can you ever go home again? In my admittedly limited experience, I think it’s less about going home, and more about realizing that you have a new home. That the place with the memories is a part of you, but it’s not who you are anymore.
*No, I will not repeat said stories.
**I’ve been doing homework since I came home
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