All Roads Lead Home

As I stared at the intricate lines that snaked across the faded paper in my hands, only one thought was running through my head: “I’m going home”. I looked through the windshield, thinking of the path I had ahead of me. Almost immediately, a wave of anticipation and eagerness engulfed me at the prospect of returning to my roots. 

After 4 years, I was finally returning to my secluded childhood home in a quaint, middle-of-nowhere town in Wyoming. My tumultuous relationship with my only living relative, my sister, was the reason behind my staying away. She had inherited it after our parents died, so I had kept my distance, until, one day, I had suddenly been consumed by nostalgia which came along with an urge to visit. I was looking forward to an escape to the peaceful countryside, but what was more enticing was the thought of an introspective 6-hour drive through Colorado to get there. 

I reexamined the complex, yet comforting map. It was a blurring matrix of multi-colored lines, words, stars, symbols, and green blobs. Over time, my hometown was so untouched by technology that the only way to reach it was by hand-held maps. Without hesitating, I marked my path, pressed the pedal, and was off on my long journey.

As I hit the road, the landscapes around me transformed. I took the scenic route and drove on a trail in the Rocky Mountains. As I stepped out of my car at one of the overlooks to take in the view, my jaw immediately dropped. The radiant sun was just starting to rise, filling the world with pinkish-orange hues and casting light onto the surrounding area. Below was a thicket of tall trees dotted with multicolored leaves. And to rival all of that, way down below was a glistening lake that reflected back all the beauty above it. I wanted to freeze this moment and stay in it forever. As I got back on the road, I saw the forested mountains transform into snowy peaks where I caught glimpses of majestic buffalos resting. The delicate daylight reflected off the snow, giving the air a sense of purity. Slowly, the scenery changed once again to vast canyons with layers that were like battle scars from their war against time. Shades of beige and burgundy switched to turquoise when I passed by carefree, rushing, rivers. 

After 5 hours of driving, the map indicated that I was nearing my destination. I could barely contain my excitement. Towering trees lined each side of the road and birds chirped happily. It wasn't as stately as the mountains or even as whimsical as the rivers, but it was home. I started to smell a familiar scent of pine, mud, and fresh air. I had traveled down this road so many times that I didn't even need the map. Muscle memory directed my legs and arms into movement as I steered onto the exact street where I was born. 

And then I saw it - a "For Sale" sign in the lawn of the only cheerful yellow house on Oak Street. My house. For Sale.

 "No, no no," I muttered, trying to steady myself on the wheel. 

My throat protested for air and my eyes burned with tears. One side of my brain was thinking, why are you overreacting?, but the truthful side that mirrored my heart knew the answer. This house was more than just a house. It was a home, a memory - it was my childhood. I realized that I had lost more than just an old abode. Along with it, the memory of the ugly knitted sweater I used to have and the secret stash of candy in my drawer and even the cobwebs in the cellar - all of it, gone. 

Suddenly, my grief turned to anger. I was angry at my sister for putting it for sale, at myself for wanting to return, and at the world for being so unfair. In a fit of rage, I opened the car door and prepared to go inside the house to trash the place for whoever would occupy it next. I found a spare key under the familiar doormat, like I knew I would. But as I unlocked the door and stepped inside, I found it already empty. My anger left me and I stood there like a numb, haunted ghost. My presence in the house was the only thing that indicated that it had ever been a place of vibrant colors, collected mugs, and stained carpets. I walked around to the living room. What had once been a warm, cozy gathering space was now a hollow white room. I walked to the window and looked up at the sky, as if it had a solution. When I looked, I saw the sun gazing down at me sympathetically. I thought of the beautiful viewpoint on the mountain near Denver that had let me live in another realm for a few minutes. I had felt so at peace and untouchable by all the problems of the world. I tried to let that feeling descend on me again and try to relive it. I pictured the hazy glow of the sun and the purity of the snow and the layers of the canyons and the trickle of the river.

I felt it - a calm wave of tranquility and inspiration. As I looked around the house again, it was as if I was watching through a new eye. Instead of seeing the house as what it once was, I saw what it could be in the future. A couple, drinking morning coffee at the dining table together, two kids watching their favorite show, a lazy, rainy Saturday filled with board games and blooming flowers. I saw a future and a fresh start for some lucky family out there who would get the chance to live a life that I once had. 

My journey through mountains and forests, rivers and canyons, snow and heat showed me a fundamental truth of life: change is inescapable but how you treat it is up to you.

"Change is hard at first, messy in the middle, and gorgeous at the end." - Robin Sharma