Country roads, take me home.

Ever since my emergency room excursion, I've found myself a bit more lethargic. I don't think it's just the percosets talking either. It's not just that I'm trying to figure out what to do next year, or the 50-60 hour weeks wearing on me this time. I finally put my finger on it today while walking to the last farmer's market of the year on Capitol Hill.

I'm nervous about going home.

Of all feelings, I did not expect this. Ever since really seeing what my job is about, I've wanted to escape back to familiarity and warmth of home. For the past 5-6 weeks, I've become pretty acclimated to life here -- getting up before the sun rises and after it sets, performing a delicate waltz with my roommates in our tiny kitchen during meal times, remembering how often my most-traveled buses stop, gasping in awe at Mount Rainier on clear days, being able to walk down the street to get anything I need, and feeling busy and tired, but lucky most days. It's a completely different type of exhausted, one that perhaps a lot of Americorps volunteers experience -- if I don't do this work, no one will. It's simultaneously distressing and motivating.

My half-day on Wednesday was AWESOME, as most half-days are. However, like most days at my job, I managed to stay later than usual. By 2:00 I was back home, preparing myself for a run, shower, and packing for the long weekend ahead. More than anything, I felt excited about going home. As I began my run by Lake Washington (another blue-skied day -- I think people exaggerate about the amount of rain here!), my cardio system wheezed at me, and I immediately regretted putting work and my weakness for free pastries above my running routine. I need to get back in this healthy habit. Eventually I prepared for my plane ride by having just enough beers while packing to easily put me to sleep long before my 3:45 AM wake-up call. Kerry drove me to the airport in exchange for use of my car this weekend, and by 5:10 I was through security and preparing to board my plane for Dallas/Fort Worth.

Maryville was not as comfortable as I remembered. No one was waiting for me as I bolted past security around 3:30 PM. Disappointing, but my plane was early and my ever-frugal parents don’t want to park at the airport for long periods of time, because that would mean having to pay something to the parking people after leaving the terminal. This isn’t meant as a dig against them, but I think it probably does explain a lot about how I learned to live. At any rate, after the slight disappointment, I headed down to baggage claim and waited for my luggage to come around. It even felt surreal standing there, because I got the distinct feeling that someone from my plane was continuing to stare at me – again, something I’m not too used to feeling (though, perhaps I should.)

Life, naturally, got even more ridiculous as I waited. All of a sudden, none other than Mike Finney popped around the carousel, heading towards security. I remember shock, embarrassment, and a bit of anger towards the heavens for whomever was pulling this trick on me. I’m sure this also registered on my face – picture the jaw drop, the unsure peer, and then a reassuring smile -- it would be nice to see Finney, considering I hadn't seen him in...wow, years? Still, the first person I see when I touch down at home after a long time away HAD to be an ex? Really?! Luckily, the encounter was less than awkward, but unfortunately was a bit insulting. After commenting how cool it would be to work in an airport (I have always had an affinity for them, ask me about it sometime), he simply said, “Wow, you’re still a dork.” And laughed his raucous Finney laugh. The proper response would have been, “Wow, and you’re still in Maryville”, but alas, in true Corey fashion, I thought of the comeback ten minutes later than appropriate. At least he left to serve the needy travelers of the airport Ruby Tuesday before my Dad came striding in with a white rose and big smile – finally, a face I was excited to see!

As Dad and I drove down Alcoa highway, same as I always have since we moved to Maryville in 1996, I felt a surprising wave of emotions crest over me. Home is huge – in the sense that it is so spread out. There were vast amounts of perfectly good land not being used in some form of development. The chain stores – O’Charley’s, Cracker Barrel, Panera, Chili’s – felt impossibly far away, practicably unreachable. I didn’t have to look up to see clear skies. All the while, I’m chitchatting with my Dad about random occurances in the past few months in Maryville that don’t actually have any significant bearing on the place, such as newly paved turn lanes, but this was actually the kind of small talk I missed.

We entered the house through the garage and familiar laundry room. Mom ran to greet me with a huge hug and grin. I don't think I've ever seen her so excited! And me? Absolutely overwhelmed with everything. This was not what I remembered, or rather I guess, what I expected. Even the kitchen felt vast, much like the town did as Dad and I drove in. After exchanging pleasantries with Ross and Christin, who were busily preparing sides for the ensuing meal, I crept to the nook between my room and bathroom and allowed myself a short cry. I couldn't put my finger on what exactly I was crying over -- joy? confusion? the weight of everything I've done/thought/felt these past 4-5 months? Relieved, exhausted, hungry, and absolutely bewildered at my guttereal reaction, I calmed myself and sat down to dinner with my closest family. Over a new mac + cheese recipe and Dad's homemade bread, all the unpleasantness went away as we chatted about absent grandparents and various recent pop culture phenomena (Quantum of Solace, Twilight, and Sarah Palin.) My world softened and I could once again feel free to be myself -- at least, the self I am while I'm around family -- and that is definitely a more comfortable persona.

See, this is what positively baffles me. I wanted and knew I needed a change in my life -- one of the huge reasons I moved to Seattle. But once I came back this weekend, I felt as if I could be myself once more. Isn't that the same person I was?/am? trying to change? However, haven't I also said before that my current line of work is forcing me to change in ways I don't desire? So, was my shock in delight of finding out my past self still exists, or the realization of regression to my unwanted past self? Perhaps, even more sadly, could it be a bit of both? And I thought culture shock could only occur if you visited another nation!

Overall, however, my trip home was awesome. I soon settled in and got to see Jessie, one of my best childhood friends, as soon as she was done with dinner as well. We also hung out in the thriving hustle and bustle of downtown Maryville, where we visited 3/4 of the local bars -- one of which was hosting a 40th birthday party, which we awkwardly walked in on. Oops. UK won its basketball games, and I got to see my sneaky uncles hide a fifth of Jim Beam in their jackets as they entered Neyland Stadium for Fulmer's last game. Overall, it was a great trip home, and I was sad to leave my friends and parents, but not so much the place. I wonder if the same will hold true for Lexington in three weeks...