Town/gown

Author: Grady Ross

The idea of home always becomes more clearly defined for me when I travel. No matter how many sights I see or people I meet, travel never fails to lose some of its novelty after extended periods of time. Lying in a hotel bed with the sheets too tightly tucked in hospital corners, I begin to crave the familiarities of my room. I would argue that this need to return to normalcy is more pronounced when you share a confined space with 40 other athletes and their wet clothing.

Spring training in Georgia with the crew team was incredible - I'm counting down the days until our return. But I'm not going to deny the feeling of relief I experienced Sunday night as our bus rolled around the corner to the welcoming sight of Mead Chapel greeting us from the hill. I had to wonder, though: was it Middlebury College to which I was so happy to return, or was it Middlebury, the town where I grew up? From where was I interpreting this concept of home?

When my teammates lay in bed thinking of home, were they missing Minnesota or Wyoming or New York? Or was it Hadley, Atwater and Gifford that tugged at the ol' heart strings? I've never had to deal with these conflicting perceptions of hearth, because I've always hung my hat in Middlebury.

That said, I've begun to wonder how well I'll adjust when the moment comes that I find myself living outside of this town, or - gasp - beyond the state borders. This moment is inevitable, but college hasn't forced me to cope with transition on a geographical level. Necessity has not prepared me for independence and change the way it has my peers.

I've previously had fears about this very scenario, but until now they have been mostly superficial: they have been rooted in a lack of material things. What if, on my own in the world, I overlook the purchase of a can opener or a monkey wrench or a toilet plunger or a carbon monoxide detector? I have a frightening image of myself unknowingly inhaling colorless odorless fumes while trying to fix my clogged plumbing with insufficient tools, all the while starving because I had no means of opening my Campbell's.

But, while I don't think these fears are completely unfounded, I have shifted my anxiety away from a bizarre demise on my bathroom floor, to my ability to establish a feeling of belonging in a strange environment.

I've always been wary of change. Sometimes I think I subconsciously guided myself to give an affirmative reply to attend Midd for this very reason. There are moments when I question my spirit of adventure, and then I feel the need to rebel in small ways just to prove to myself that I am willing to take a risk. (Heck yeah, I put the knives in the fork bucket. How'dya like me now, haters?)

Maybe there is no way to know how things will turn out until I actually make them happen. Perhaps I'll leave Middlebury and put out my welcome mat on the other side of the world without as much as a sentimental sniffle. Perhaps Al Gore will drive a Suburban and Oprah's weight will stop yo-yoing and scrunchies will be in again.

In the meantime, when I see Mead Chapel, I'll know that I'm home.