When you are thrown into a new environment, it is disorienting and strange, so the departure from your hometown for college is a unique experience. It is different from the gradual shift from elementary to middle to high school, as your entire local area shifts and previous constants like the bowling alley or the Dairy Queen you used to frequent are now hundreds of miles away. The entire landscape you have grown familiar with is gone, and you are forced to reckon with the new geography surrounding you.
You know you will return to your hometown eventually, and depending on the distance you may come home for a weekend visit to celebrate a birthday or a wedding. But truthfully, it takes some time to wrap your head around the fact that when you visit home next, your favorite fast-food joint may have moved to a different strip mall, or some new construction on the road outside your house means a new traffic light to get used to. Maybe your parents have moved to an entirely different part of town now that you are gone, meaning you will no longer recognize the lurches and turns of the car on the way home.
Acknowledging that the world you used to know so well will change and grow just like you can be depressing and comforting. Hometowns are such a large part of who we are. Even if you have moved around your entire life, there are memories and experiences you could only have had in one place, and you will take those with you wherever you go. Memories of sneaking onto high school football fields after dark or meeting [friends] for breakfast at your favorite local diner every Sunday will haunt you as you try to move into young adulthood. You might feel comfortable talking to a passerby about the wintry weather or their stylish coat because of the climate of your hometown.
If you prefer to mind your own business, gawk at those who discuss the “three taboo” topics of finance, religion, and politics, or maybe just can’t understand your friend’s need to invite those they barely know out to lunch, you are likely from a hometown that prioritized privacy, traditional values and good manners. Investigating how and why you feel certain ways about the mashup of cultures that college causes can help you to better understand what kind of impact your hometown had on you as you grew up.
When you first arrive at college, there is an immediate understanding between you and another person when they reveal they also grew up in your area. That kind of instant camaraderie is rare, and some folks will actively seek out those from NOVA, RVA, the 757, etc., to feel more understood in the ocean of young adults that college submerges you in. Having a shared history and knowing about the same local spots and drama is a great conversation starter and can start a game of who-knows-who. It can also help alleviate feelings of homesickness in the early months of college and will often give you a new appreciation for your life at home.
I have come to appreciate my hometown a lot. There are moments when I am enjoying the company of my new friends and wishing I could share the magical moments with them too: screaming down Shore Drive, or late-night trips down to the beach with milkshakes in hand. I’ve even been campaigning for them to visit me this summer so I can show them what the beach really has to offer beyond what the tourist bureau advertises.
When I first left for college, I felt suffocated by my hometown. I had lived there for almost eleven years, gone through middle and high school surrounded by the same folks, and had my parents over my shoulder for every decision, big or small. Being in a tourist town, I felt like a constant visitor, someone who was there to be entertained or to do the entertaining, refusing to put down any real roots or form an identity there.
After a particularly rough freshman year at James Madison University, I came back home to finish getting my associate’s degree from Tidewater Community College. Surprisingly, it wasn’t then that I realized how much I had missed my hometown. It was when I had to leave for the second time, to start my life at Virginia Tech. It is here that some days I feel like the mountains might swallow me whole and I wish more than anything for a beach sunset or a hike that would only result in some light-labored breathing. I realized here that not only did I miss my hometown, but I missed the relaxed environment that I had been taking for granted.
Virginia Beach is full of art, surfing, skating, music, a diverse food scene, and a real sense of community that works to uplift local businesses and celebrate our accomplishments as a city. My high school graduation was held in the Virginia Beach Convention Center, right at the oceanfront. Local vendors would sponsor academic events consistently and bring pizza and tacos for people to enjoy. When we had a mass shooting that was covered on the national news, my community was “VB Strong” and worked through emotions and legislation together.
In the summer, my friends and I take part-time jobs working at the oceanfront serving and entertaining the thousands of tourists that come through our city every year. Everyone knows how to swim, and most have been surfing or boogieboarding at least once. There is a collective understanding of the importance of our multiple waterways, and conservation groups are incredibly popular in the area. In winter, we dust off our boogie boards and surfboards to hang off the back of neighbors’ trucks plowing through all two inches of snow we get that season. Bars and restaurants often are on a first-name basis with frequent local customers, sometimes preparing habitual orders before the customer even walks in. Most people are happy to strike up a conversation in a grocery store, in line at the car wash, or at a sibling’s dance recital.
There are all kinds of things I noticed as I have been shifting back and forth between the beach and Blacksburg, and it’s made me think more about where I want to live in the future than ever before. I used to think I wanted to get out as soon as possible and move to the colder climate up north where there is a sense of permanence and a chance to prove I could make it without ties or connections. Now, I mourn the fact that if I were to move, I’d be away from the beach, away from Seashore State Park (now called First Landing, but old habits die hard), and away from the kind of community that is always willing to put in a good word for a friend. I know that my life has been shaped by my hometown, in how I talk and interact with people and the environment around me.
I have grown immensely grateful for my hometown, and felt firsthand the adage of “distance makes the heart grow fonder.” While I can acknowledge the complaints of constant construction, crowded beaches full of cigarette butts, and the hellish hurricane season, I find myself defending its faults and recalling only the fondest memories I have had on its shores.