I’ve been struggling with a terrible case of homesickness. I thought that seeing my loved ones would cure it, but it surprisingly made the ache greater. My trip home wasn’t nearly long enough, and there were so many people I didn’t get to see. Coming back to my isolated little cottage in a town that’s still in pandemic shut-down mode was a hard shift. I had a difficult time remembering why I was here at all instead “at home” with my people.

At the beginning of November 2020, I started working for the Los Altos School District, in the most fulfilling and enjoying position I’ve ever held. I was the representative for a program where I assisted a few little ones who needed extra emotional or academic support. I absolutely LOVED my job. But, on Tuesday, April 20, our school opened up to in-person learning, and my position was dissolved. My principal assured me that I had nothing to worry about and that she’d find a way to exercise my skills.

With the changes and new challenges of having all the students on campus for the first time this school year, my principal didn’t have time to complete my schedule. By the middle of the day, I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing. So, I went around to the 5^th and 6^th-grade classrooms, asking each teacher if they needed assistance. On my third try, I was told about a 5^th-grade girl struggling to begin her writing assignment due to anxiety. I introduced myself, and she and I went outside to the picnic tables to talk.

She spoke about her crippling anxiety issues, parental problems, and home stressors. I soon learned that she didn’t feel like she was being heard by her mother. Her anxiety and resulting stomach troubles weren’t taken seriously. So, I suggested that we write about that! We composed a story about a girl who had a traumatic experience but had no one to listen. It was a great story with depth and even comedic release.  We had so much fun writing that her anxiety and upset stomach settled before the second paragraph.

And then something completely unexpected happened; she stopped writing, looked at me, smiled, and said, “I’m so happy you’re here doing this with me!” and my entire heart melted. At that moment, I didn’t miss home; I wasn’t wondering why I was here. Instead, I knew that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I will always seek out familiar consolation, a creature of comfort, afraid that nothing new would compare. But the genuine look of appreciation on that little one’s face and the comfort she found made me see that my latter days will always have more potential than the former.

I still miss home, and I’m working to raise the money so I can spend my summer there. But if I can’t, that’s okay. I believe that I have enough love inside of me for my people in Cleveland and everyone I meet wherever I go. And even more, I’m learning to trust those around me to fill my cup. Because Tuesday afternoon, my cup ran over, and there wasn’t a familiar face in sight.