My Home

There have been so many times I’ve said, “I am going home” referring to a place that was not actually my home. Like the times I’ve been on vacation and told a group of new friends I just met that I was “heading home”, but really I was just going back to the cute little Airbnb I’d rented for the week. It was not really home, but it felt that way while I was there. I am sure many of you can relate. I tend to be on the more adaptable side, making myself comfortable in these places. Forgetting that after seven or ten, days I will no longer be there. I will pack up my things and go back to my “real” home. There’s a specific feeling there - when you’ve gotten used to this new space, and your new surroundings. But, at the same time, you’re yearning to be in your own bed, in your own house. And you cannot wait to get home. Home, what does it mean?

The place I have called home for the last ten years of my life is not the place I grew up in. It is not the place where my family still lives. No, it’s across the country from them, approximately 2,717 miles away. Once in a while, I will take some time to reflect on why I continue to call this place home, how I got here, and if I will continue to stay. It is Reno. Reno, Nevada. Just seeing those four letters spelled out makes me feel a certain way. Happy, or whatever this feeling is, it is just right.

When I was 19, I met someone while I was visiting a good friend in Los Angeles. At that time, I had still lived in the house I spent many years growing up in as a young child and teenager. The way we met, like many things in life, seemed kind of serendipitous. At that age, I was aching for something more than what my small town could offer me. This story is one that you’ve heard before, I’m sure. A young girl in a small town wanting to get out, just waiting for the right opportunity. After four months, and two additional trips to Los Angeles, I had decided to move from my small bedroom in New York to live with my new love in Los Angeles. I can probably guess what you’re thinking. That I was naive, foolish, and maybe that it was even a little dangerous. My parents thought those things, but also trusted my judgement enough. My dad helped me pack and send four boxes to my new address and then flew out with me to help me get settled into my new apartment.

I'll get straight to it, I did not really care for LA. I had a lot of fun in the year I lived there and I loved being able to walk or ride my bike to the beach. But, I was working at a restaurant most of the time and all of my money went to rent. I did not find this new place to be as glamorous as it’s made out to be in the movies. At that age, I had not quite figured out that everything in the movies or what is shown on TV isn’t how it actually is. Shocking, I know! Except for the few good friends I made, I often found people to be more on the aloof side. And I did not know it at the time, but I wanted to live in a less populated place.

My partner’s family lived in Reno, so we had visited a couple of times. I remember the first time I saw a tumbleweed, it was right past the railroad tracks just outside of the city. It was half the height of me and twice as wide. It was a huge dried up bush just rolling in the wind. Now that, that was just like the movies. Growing up in upstate New York, I’d never really seen anything dry up and roll away like that before. I wonder now, if that why I loved Reno so much. Because of the curiosity of all of the things I’d never seen or experienced before. When we visited for Christmas, it snowed. I was shocked. My idea of Nevada had always been that it’s the desert - hot and dry. I also had an idea that Reno was like the wild west you see in movies - cacti and cowboys. That is mostly true. But Reno is tucked away in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, at a higher elevation than much of the rest of the state. The winters are more mild than what I had been used to on the East Coast, but there are four seasons.

After about a year in Los Angeles, I was over it. My partner secured a job in Reno and off we went. From my very first weeks here, I knew I loved this place. We drove up the first week of September and I remember seeing the mountains in a way that excited me, in a way that made me feel like I was home. Our first winter was spent snowboarding, snowshoeing, and we got a new puppy! Even in the winter months, there is so much to see and do. Reno is special in that way, it is called “The Biggest Little City” for a reason. You have a small town feel here, spread out in a wide open space surrounded by mountains, but you also have the things of a big city. There are lots of bars, restaurants, 24-hour casinos, and more of the things you’d typically only find in a bigger city. And on the outskirts, endless things to do and explore in nature. It truly is the best of all worlds.

I’ve travelled to many places, swam in many lakes and oceans, but there have been very few that compare to the magic that is Lake Tahoe. Lake Tahoe is a short forty minute to an hour drive from Reno. It’s situated high up, so even in the summer, the water is brisk. I love to swim though, so I never pass on an opportunity to get in and float around. Being surrounded by the mountains in a crystal clear lake can make any of my worries go away. It’s a place that over the years, I’ve gone to ground myself. To get myself back to a place of calm and equilibrium. Imagine you’re in a crystal clear lake, surrounded by mountains and beautiful coniferous trees . You hear the innocent screams of children splashing and playing in the distance. It is a kind of magic that I wish everyone could experience in their lifetime.

Within the Tahoe National Forest there are endless beautiful hikes, views, and places to take a dip on hot summer days. Or trails to snowshoe or go on a mountain bike ride. Some of my happiest moments in life have been watching the tails of my dogs wag back in fourth as we journey our way through new and old trails - trails that we can walk to or that are a close thirty minute drive from our house. Growing up I did not ever imagine things quite like this. I started snowboarding when I was about eleven or twelve, but we mostly night skied after school and it was always icy. I almost lost my mind the first time I rode on a powder day, after light and fluffy snow had fallen gracefully from the sky the night before. On a snowboard it’s a little harder than on skis, but there is something so satisfying about working so hard in the snow all day.

I’ve really grown up here - spiritually and mentally. I am beyond grateful to be able to call this place my home. This is what home means to me. A place I am able to grow, a place I am free to explore, and a place where I feel safe and comfortable. There is still so much I have not seen of the surrounding areas, which really makes me excited for the years to come.

At the end of 2017, after my partner and I ended our almost eight year relationship, I’d decided I needed to get away. Sadness is an understatement. Through the depths of my heartbreak, I started to become excited for the next chapter of my life. But Reno, the place I’d called home for all those years, suddenly did not feel like somewhere I belonged. That was, of course, because I’d attached my idea of home to my partner. This is something that took me some time to get over. I moved to Australia that year. I planned to stay a few months, maybe six. Little did I know, Australia holds its own magic. And me, loving the kind of wonder that only traveling unknown places holds, I stayed. For just under two years. And for most of that time, I still considered Reno my home. Even though at first, I was not sure I’d ever actually return there for good. About one and a half years in, I’d decided I was ready to start planning my return home. Home, to Reno. I just knew, in the way that something is undeniable to you. I wanted to be home. I wanted to see my friends, and my little big town.

I flew into San Francisco and rented a car to drive from the San Francisco Airport to Reno. After about three and a half hours, I started to see the mountains peak out. It was a sunny day in late August. There were no clouds and I swear I could have cried from happiness. Have you ever noticed how afternoon sunlight hits the mountains? It was a special moment for me and I remember telling myself as I drove the rest of the way back to never take for granted the way seeing the mountains made me feel. It must be because they’re so big. It humbles me because I’m reminded of all of the wonders on Earth and of how small I am - how small we all are - in comparison.

I am in constant awe of this place. From the way the sunlight hits the mountains at different points of the day and creates beautiful shadows that make me feel a way I did not know shadows could make me feel. To the nights walking down the streets, laughing along the way with good friends, to find the perfect place to dance the night away. To the summer sunsets that compare to none I’ve seen anywhere else. To the trails I know like the back of my hands and the ones I cannot wait to discover. This is home. And I am so happy to be here.