not regret but thought of paths not taken

What if the right part of leaving
Turned out to be wrong

home n.
1. A place where one lives; a residence.
2. a. An environment offering security and happiness.
b. A valued place regarded as a refuge or place of origin.
3. The place, such as a country or town, where one was born or has lived for a long period.

I never really missed Oregon until I moved to the east coast. I can't explain why. Even in the five years I resided in California, I don't remember ever feeling so distant and nostalgic for the northwest, though I'm sure there must have been such moments.

The transition, both to and from, New York and Oregon is a difficult one. A lot of it has to do with pacing. Most of it has to do with time difference. And the rest has to do with my heart.

It took me a week in Ashland just to relax. Now, back east, I feel a bit displaced.
But you can never really go home. The past is a curious thing. Returning to it, well, it's not what you expect. They way you remember things…a red house that was actually blue.

When I moved out [at seventeen] I had no attachments. The friends I had [then] were never a huge part of my life. And for whatever reason, I've never had a problem moving on, at least in physical terms (count the six cities I've resided in since). But I've never regretted leaving. And I've never moved back since. It had never occurred to me, to be honest.

For the first time upon returning home, I realized how much I care for the people I grew up with. Sad that ten years had to pass for us to get to know one another. Some I've known all along; Ben and I still curl up on my parents' couch and watch action movies the way we have since 7th grade (we contemplated briefly about departing from our genre of 13 years, but decided against it). We still drink my parents' booze, only now, we're allowed to. Which takes the fun out of it. Others, I've 'known' for ages, but have only recently learned who they are. Still others, I thought I knew, but I was wrong (I ran into my best friend from high school, who hardly even acknowledged me).

Most difficult though, was leaving behind someone I really care for. I've know I liked this person since I was twelve years old, the way you know you're an uncoordinated dancer or bad at math. It's just a part of you. He still makes me nervous, reminds me of all the fantastic awkwardness of being a teenager. He'll always have that. And no one else will.

It makes it difficult to come back to a city where nobody really knows me, not in that way.