Back when I first moved to Florida in 1998, I was homesick about 99% of the time. I longed for the winding roads, sweaters, lit fireplaces and most of all the colors of the changing leaves. Few things in life seem as appealing to me as hiking a mountain or taking a walk in the late fall afternoon with a slight chill and breeze rustling the crunchy leaves beneath my feet. The options for clothing due to changes in season still make my heart a little heavy. Back in the beginning years after my move, I longed for New Hampshire quite a bit.

When I would head back to NH to visit, the first few days seemed nice. The comfort of familiar surroundings and family was always appealing. I would savor the seasons and have visions from my childhood. I could hardly stop myself from making a snow angel or stuffing some leaves down my sisters shirt.

Then, usually around day two I would remember. I would remember why I left New Hampshire. I would remember how my family would anger me. The general close-mindedness and hypocritical thoughts, words and actions from both family and the community in which I was raised would test my limits. I would bite my tongue until I couldn’t anymore. That would always start the blow up. More times than not, I would be kicked out of my parents house, or leave to flee my mother’s wrath and have to take an early flight. Thats when I would realize again, that more times than not, the sky is always gray there. I would miss the Florida sun.

Once I arrived back in flat, no season changing, always hot, summer clothes wearing Florida and would feel at home. I would walk into my lonely, little run down apartment and and call a friend who would listen to my frustrations and confusion and tears. It took me awhile, but I soon grasped that this, Florida, was now my home. This was where I belonged.

This is part of a writing prompt from the Crazy Hip Blog Mamas

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