This past Saturday David and I drove all around where we grew up. We went by his old house, mine,my grandparents’ and cousins’, the church I attended as as child, his elementary school and many other places from our youth. While the drive did bring back some memories and a bit of nostalgia, neither of us felt even the tiniest hint of this being “home” for us. I guess you can’t go home again.
I've never thought about it like this but it's true. My parents still live where I grew up. I can think of a couple of homes, and my primary school that I regularly see when I visit them, but they are just places I used to know. There is no great emotional attachment.
I wonder why that is? I guess we've moved on…literally.