What It’s Like When ‘Home’ Is More Than One Place

I always get the funniest reactions when people ask where I’m from. I have a prepared speech every time, “Well, I was born in Brooklyn, New York but the majority of my life I grew up in a small southern town in Virginia.” Some laugh when I preface this question every time, but how can I not when the place I was born in and the place I grew up in are totally different? We won’t even mention the fact that I’m Italian as well. 

Recently, I went back to New York to visit family, and it stirred something in me. With my birthday approaching, I’ve been reflecting more deeply on my identity. Where is home? Where do I truly belong?

Post-pandemic, many people left big cities in search of slower-paced, rural lives.  But which place is actually better? Growing up in a small town gave me the space, literally, to run and play freely. I took for granted the wide-open fields and quiet roads, luxuries my city-born relatives never had. Spending time outside is so beneficial for mental and physical health and having the opportunity to learn outdoors is invaluable. Researchers claim that “increased self-esteem, quality of life and physical activity” are some of the results of spending time in nature. When you live in a slow paced environment there are plenty of opportunities to do things outside unlike in a cemented city. I always knocked down my mom’s comments about not being able to run in a big backyard as a child — who cares when New York has so much more than grass! 

Sitting in my small city apartment, I realize the luxury it is to have a big backyard. Even with my voluminous grassy wonderland, there was always something missing. Spending holidays without most of my family felt wrong, sacreligious even! While I had so much to be grateful for in my rural home, my heart longed for the bumbling city.

Christmas was the one time each year that we escaped the quiet countryside. The eight hour drive north took me to a different dimension. Fewer and fewer farms whipped by my window and city scenes started to appear until we finally saw the piercing New York City skyline. What a relief it was to start weaving through the traffic and smelling the city air to a paradise that I could call mine. This was home. While my eyes glazed over these scenes, my parents clenched their jaws as we entered deeper into the city traffic. We left our tiny city apartment so we could stretch our legs in a rural town and run a successful Italian restaurant on a lake. As a kid, though, I was convinced growing up in the city would have been better. Was it really? 

There’s no denying that city kids grow up with more stimulation, more independence, and endless things to explore. Culture is on every corner. You can reinvent yourself whenever you want—no one’s trying to make you “fit in.” The vivacity of the city bounces off the buildings and confidence flows through our veins. Studies show that “children grow up with more confidence, independence and self-reliance” in cities.

Now, as an adult caught between two worlds, I still feel conflicted. I’ve grown to love the simplicity and beauty of my small hometown, nestled between green dreamscapes and tall trees. But returning to New York always grounds me. It reconnects me to family, culture, and a deeper part of myself.

When I’m home in the South, I get to channel a more humble and relaxed version of myself. Driving around town feels almost like playing pretend as a kid. I drive by the local church and smile at the older ladies who taught me in school and then wave to the local fire station that we feed at our restaurant. It’s almost like Barbie World: everything in its place, perfectly arranged. From the outside, my town looks cookie-cutter and overlapping, sweet and safe. And while that lifestyle protected me, it never pushed me the way the city does. 

New York and even Richmond allows me to be confident in myself, try new things and challenge my beliefs through my diverse friendships. To me, the city reinforces community, ironically enough. I trust myself more, I wear my clothes with more flare and I am motivated by something everyday. 

Home, to me, is both. It’s the brick house in the South with the kitchen window overlooking the backyard, deer grazing at dawn, and the hum of a lawnmower cutting through the stillness. But it’s also my aunt’s apartment in Brooklyn—with the laundry line stretched outside the window, the overcrowded living room buzzing with conversation, and the ever-present sirens singing in the distance.

Home is also my aunt’s house in Brooklyn with the laundry line outside and the overcrowded living room and the sirens blaring outside.

For me, home will always be a harmonious split in two.