Anyone who knows me knows that I am an unabashed and unapologetic homer for Seattle, my hometown. I wear my love for Seattle like the patches on Russell Wilson’s jersey. No one will ever convince me that Seattle is not the best city in the world. It doesn’t rain nearly as much as people say (no, it really doesn’t), the people are great, the air is clear and the scenery is breathtaking. I could write you a poem right now off the top of my head about the Great Northwest. But I’m not going to, so that’s good for you.
Anyways, I went home for Thanksgiving to spend some quality time with my family, as so many of my classmates did. In the whirling dervish life that we lead here at Sloan, it was such a needed respite to go home, let the tryptophan waft over you like a blanket, and sit and talk and waste time away with the family. It really was great.
But one thing really struck me when I was “home” this past week. For the first time since I began school at MIT, I started referring to Boston as “home.” I did this subconsciously a couple times, and then noticed that I was doing it all the time. It was really weird because, as you may have noticed earlier, Seattle sort of occupies that “home” space for me. But, yet, there I was, talking to my family about when I was going to, “head home to Boston after the break.”
I thought about this a lot, and realized that I was not just referring my actual place of residence, but rather, really making a connection between this city and the feelings that accompany “home”: comfort, nostalgia, friendship. I never thought that I would get to this place with Boston. I was a life-time west coaster, much more accustomed to a slower paced life, people in colorful clothes and unkempt beards; a far cry from the muted colors worn by the bustling people of Boston and the east coast, to be sure. But with each time that I passed over the Charles on the way to school, visited the secret bakeries in the North End, walked among the turning leaves on Newbury Street or cheered along with the fans at Fenway (as long as they weren’t playing the Mariners), I grew to love this place more and more. The scenery is beautiful, with water all around and the brightly colored leaves having just fallen to the ground. The people, once you get past the accent and a little bit of a hard exterior, are kind and gentle. The cold, just like the rain in Seattle, is actually not that bad. And of course, being a part of MIT – and knowing the types of people that you will know here – bond you with friendships and experiences to this place.
I was worried when I decided to come to MIT that I was never going to feel like this about Boston. That the people and the weather and the culture were just too divergent from what I knew. But this place sticks with you. Grows on you. And it turns out that one of the best parts about coming to MIT was forming this bond with Boston. My home away from home.