There’s a story that my mom often likes to tell about me about being homesick. I was eight years old, and we were taking our very first family vacation out of state, to Walt Disney World. Being from Ohio, it ended up being much cheaper to drive the two of us to Florida and back, even with an overnight stay in North Carolina. I should say that prior to this vacation, I had been away from home for many extended periods of time, attending weeklong summer camps and spending weeks at a time with my grandparents. Being away from home was not new to me, but being this far from home became a problem. At eight years old, with my mom by my side, on my way to Walt Disney World, in a strange hotel room in North Carolina, I became massively homesick. There is no other way to describe it besides to say that I had a complete meltdown. I cried the entire night, begging my mom to take us back home and scrap the entire trip. It was a mess.
It’s hard to think about being homesick, especially as an adult. For a child, it makes sense. New surroundings, being away from people you know, etc., etc…But as an adult—at Harvard, no less—this is something we should be over. Right? Continue reading