My whole life I have wanted to live on the East Coast. I’ve wanted to see big cities and explore the history and be a part of the place where our country was born.
I was homeschooled until ninth grade. My history lessons were taught through books. When I got to the formation of the United States, the majority of my lessons came through Joy Hakim’s “The History of US” along with other books, like The Witch of Blackbird Pond and Johnny Tremain. I remember reading about Paul Revere’s heroism and the shots fired at Lexington and the Boston Tea Party and spending years of my education studying this war that birthed our country.
For the first time in my life I am in places that my childhood heroes (other than Lewis and Clark) could potentially have roamed. Perhaps they rode a horse through the village I’m staying in, or near a town I have visited.
Let me tell you, the village I am living in is absolutely adorable. There are three main streets and most things are within reasonable walking distance. All the buildings are old brick buildings, and the stores have a small-town feel. I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb. Occasionally, I find myself wondering if I’m living in Stars Hollow. Then I remember Stars Hollow is not real. But if it were, I totally think it would be a lot like this village.
I guess I have always imagined the East Coast as this perfect, wonderful place filled with big cities and easily connected by trains and busses. While a bit shocked that my idealization of this geographic region is incorrect, I think it is a blessing in disguise. I have been thinking a lot the past year about how much I miss the West Coast. It’s stunning to think about how much I have grown and changed in the past year, and this internship, in this setting, has been an incredible time of reflection and transition.