I’m back in my parent’s house. I’m in a twin bed. I’m 33 years old. I have a king-sized, gorgeous bed at home in Minnesota, and i’ve driven 12 hours to fall asleep in a twin bed.
How old do you need to get before you become “reflective” on the time you spent growing up. The people, the city, your FAMILY...
When you’re younger, you spend your time fantasizing about leaving, creating a new life for yourself...one where no one else can follow you...at least some of us do.
But then, you start to see your family as individual human beings, perfectly flawed. They’re not figures put on earth to make your life difficult. And, if you can get a glimpse of who they were, before you came along, you can see what journeys they took to break away from those put in authority over them, and get a little perspective.
I moved away from Detroit 9 years ago this January. I wanted and needed to make my own way. As painful as it was for all of us, one thing i’ve learned to trust over time about my family...you’re ALWAYS family. You can’t outrun it, you can’t hide from it...and, if you’re lucky enough, at some point you stop trying to run or hide and turn towards each other...start to listen and accept the differences and the similarities.
But...i didn’t start this blog to talk about that. It’s just that all of that is to bring me to tonight...
After moving away, building a new life in Minneapolis, and a career where i have people that i care about in most of the coolest places in the world, i seem to end up spending most of my free time driving back and forth to Michigan.
I drove 12 hours to get to Dearborn Heights, where my parents live, in time for dinner. I got there, opened the door to be immediately knocked over by the smell of my mom’s chili and the sound of my sister and her three kids laughing, shrieking, and tumbling over each other.
It hurts to see my niece and nephews in that way that is both good and bad. Your heart might explode with joy and, at the same time, break from the time spent apart. After approving of the latest feaux-hawk from the middle one, proving you can still pick the oldest one up and watching the youngest do cirque-de-soleil-type stunts, they all go home to get ready for bed.
Sitting down at the table with Mom and Dad and my friend, Laurie, who’s here to run a half-marathon with me on Sunday, we begin to catch up. And it’s easy...and familiar...and, well...feels like being home.
Afterwards, we went over to my sister’s house, opened a bottle of red, and caught up on all the craziness that we couldn’t cover on quick phone calls in between rehearsals and shows and travel, or soccer practices, doctor’s appointments and girls’ nights out. I snuck upstairs to check on the kids, give them secret kisses on their cheeks and make a memory to last until the next time I’m back.
Then, after a long day in the car, and a full evening with my family, i find myself ready to fall asleep in this tiny twin bed, with the matching train-and truck comforter and pillow case. And i remember, as I do every time I come home, that this teeny-tiny bed is always the best sleep i ever get. And it feels good to be home.