Long time no see: a newcomer in my own town
By Michael Delgado
September 2022
Growing up, family dinners at mom’s house never officially began until the ceremonial family tequila shots had been thrown down everyone’s hatch, eyebrows were furrowed, and lips were puckered. Even Grandma joined in on occasion, although through the years the size of her pour dwindled at the same rate as did her overall height. We didn’t want her keeling over, and we especially wanted to avoid explaining to paramedics the reason for said keel.
I was last a resident of Utah in late 2020. I was preparing to leave the nest for a second time in 15 months, but my first go around did not bear the same level of uncertainty as did the second, which involved a global pandemic. What hadn’t changed in between my first and second move was an eagerness within me to leave home. Still, the second time wasn’t without its challenges as I’d just met someone whom I grew to love and care about very much and very quickly. But, adventure and consternation were scheduled to be resumed 712 miles northeast from home where I’d learn to be a Washingtonian for the next several years.
As I write this, my graduation ceremony is exactly 33 days away. My scheduled move-out date is just seven days after that, and I’ll spend 12 hours on the road studying my flashcards, relearning how to be a Utahn.
As is the nature of human life, there has been and always will be many wonderful people and experiences that are associated with my place of birth. I’ll always have Utah to thank for these things, but as has happened to many before me and many since, I began to grow tired of home and what it had to offer. When high school neared its end, I felt a great disconnect with Salt Lake due to a number of reasons and a handful of people. I spent some time feeling very bitter and sorry for myself regarding how things turned out, and it’d take me awhile to realize that my strained relationship with home was largely a result of the dissonance that I had with my own self.
My past is filled with stupid decisions and many occasions which lacked in thought or thoughtfulness. I contributed my fair share to the demise of several friendships. I wasn’t fond of myself, and although I do believe this was partly a result of my peers and my circumstances, I hadn’t yet learned of the role such a sentiment plays as another attempts to convince themselves of their own fondness toward you. Simply put, no one likes someone who doesn’t even like themselves.
Much has changed about myself and about Salt Lake over the last few years. I’ve grown a lot and come a long way. I’ve learned to forgive and acknowledge my responsibility for things, but as I prepare to move back home I’m reminded of an old version of me. One that I don’t care for and one that a part of me remains embarrassed of. Someone I’m still learning to take it easy on. I tell myself that I was young and dumb and awkward and insecure (which many of us were), and that the old version is what made way for Mikey 2.0 (the official scientific name). Such reminders bring me solace in times of trouble.
When I think about moving home I’m filled with excitement but also with anxiety about many things. What does the future hold? Will I be happy? How will people from my past know that I’ve changed? Will I find fulfillment?
These are all standard thoughts to have regardless of who is moving and where they’re going, but there’s something very unique about heading home as opposed to somewhere completely new. One who signs up to leave also signs up for a death of sorts. If you’re lucky, you’ll be missed and thought of by a select few. Otherwise, you make peace with the fact that people will adapt and learn to live a life without your physical presence. Life goes on, as they say.
Of course, the same can be said in reverse. The one who departs learns to adjust to a life without the physical presence of all those they left behind, but a certain strangeness lies in coming back and asking others for reinstatement into their lives. Moving on without each other is mutual, but sometimes I wonder if the role I’m about to assume will resemble that of a spirt’s ghost, which has been sent to spy on and listen in on those still kickin’.
I’m not anticipating any hoopla for my return and, in fact, I’m counting on a number of people to hit me with some rendition of, “I didn’t even know you were back.” It’s difficult enough to keep track of one’s own life let alone the status of another’s.
In many ways I look forward to having the chance to approach my return to Salt Lake as more of a first time rather than a second. To try new places and wander through neighborhoods I’ve never been. To rekindle relationships with certain friends of old and to make new ones in the process. To stumble upon a hidden coffee shop and to subsequently elevate my status as a regular, so that I can waltz in and casually ask for my usual. To find the perfect spot to crack a book and occasionally glance up from as I make note of the characters passing by.
What I hope to avoid is feeling as though my return is a signifier that nothing’s changed or that my being back is just like old times. I’m a new person now; we all are. I’ve got new scars to show for it and fresh stories to tell. Everyone’s gotten a little older and become a bit wiser. It’s no one’s job but my own to ensure that I remain on this trajectory of growth, and it’s certainly no other person’s responsibility to preserve what’s left of my positive correlations with Utah.
And reader, let this not be misconstrued as a cry for help or a woe is me regarding one’s return to a state of discomfort. I’m not the first nor the last person to be at odds with their reality or their emotions. As is true of most of the times that you’ve heard from me to this point or will hear from me moving forward, the page was blank and my head very full.
There’s no telling what the future holds, or how long I’ll be back in Salt Lake for, but my hope is that whenever the time comes to venture elsewhere again, I’ll look back and feel as I do about leaving Seattle — with a fondness and with fulfillment. With a further understanding of myself, with places and people to miss, with an abundance of time spent around those I love, and with more than a few opportunities to have properly thrown back some good tequila.
“If we were meant to stay in one place, we would have roots instead of feet.”
- Rachel Wolchin