There’s nothing more rejuvenating than returning to my home state of Florida after braving a frigid New Hampshire winter. I often joke with my friends that the moment I return my skin suddenly tans, my back un-hunches and the persistent cough that had plagued me since week six of the last term spontaneously disappears. Basking in the Floridian sunshine over spring break is the cure to all the ills that Hanover winter brings.
These thoughts ran through my mind as I drove back to my house from lunch one spring afternoon, sunroof open and windows down, the sunshine gently warming my hair. Seeking the fastest way back to minimize time spent in notorious Orlando traffic, I casually typed in “home” to get directions.
Strangely, instead of providing my usual fifteen-minute route, my phone suddenly began reciting directions for a twenty-hour drive. Confused, I glanced down — only to realize that instead of directions home, my phone had mapped out a route that would take me straight to my Dartmouth dorm.
It was nothing but a technological mishap: My phone had noticed where I spent most of my time and replaced its definition of “home” accordingly. But it felt like a poignant realization, one that stuck with me for the rest of my fleeting spring break in Florida. Is Hanover, New Hampshire my home?
I tend to view New Hampshire as a place I visit, enjoying the novelty of each term before I eventually go back home. Most of my time, though, isn’t spent in Florida anymore. For every ten weeks at Dartmouth, I only get a handful back in Florida.
It can be hard for me to consider Dartmouth my home. Maybe it’s because of the turbulent ups and downs I have experienced here, but it doesn’t exactly feel like a place of tranquility or comfortability. Yet, I also hold this place dear to my heart. Some of my greatest memories and deepest friendships have been formed here in Hanover. When I return to Florida, though, I recognize that it’s no longer the same home I grew up in. I sometimes feel like I’m caught between the two ends of the East Coast — one foot in each of the places I call “home,” only half belonging in either.
I’m sometimes inclined to believe that when I come back to Florida, everything will be exactly as I left it: a time capsule of joyful nostalgia for my childhood. But it’s hard to maintain this illusion of untouched bliss when the things closest to my heart aren’t all still there — things like my childhood dog Keikei.
In the middle of winter term, I found out over the course of one dreadful day that my mom had to put her down. She was my emotional support, my forever snuggler, my sunbathing buddy. In every term before, I would count the days until I could see her again — but this time, I dreaded more and more the gut-wrenching finality of returning to a home where she no longer was.
It was sobering, to say the least — an emotional wound, fresh and raw again the second I returned home. I couldn’t walk around the house without noticing her absence; it was just a little quieter, absent of her smushed-nose snuffles or her little paws clacking on the floor as she followed me into the pantry.
It was quite the existential spring break to be had. I had hoped for an escape into Florida paradise after a depressing winter, yet all that awaited me was a struggle to understand where I belonged.
I wouldn’t say that I have quite pulled myself out of this disengaged feeling. It’s easy to start a term and simply drift, unmoored and going through the motions. But interestingly enough, just as the spring began, I was presented with a fresh outlook.
Last week, I wrote a piece interviewing a handful of the ’23s to get their perspective on their final term. Each of them had a similar thing to say — they all had an unshakeable focus on living in the present, savoring their final moments at Dartmouth and treasuring the friends that they made along the way.
This depressing mulling over my sense of belonging has presented me with a path forward. The fact is that I, along with every other Dartmouth student, am forever caught in between two places — but regardless of where we are or what places we consider home, the best we can do is to enjoy each moment.
I lament the brief time I get to spend with my family, and I miss my dog more than words can describe. But I suppose the best we can do with the little time we have is simply to embrace it. I will never forget how my dog changed my life for the better, even if she’s not there anymore. I will always be sad when break ends. In the meantime I will have to appreciate every homemade breakfast, every backyard barbecue, every early morning spent driving my sister to school and wishing that our goodbye hug would last just a little longer.
It’s high time I turned this point of view onto Dartmouth too, even if it is a “home” I sometimes love to hate. Sometimes I dread returning here and getting back into the termly grind — but I can’t ignore the ways my heart fills with happiness when I get to reunite with my friends on my first day back. I treasure every Foco meal, every late night out, every second I spend with them reclined on the Green.
Regardless of where I am, whether it’s Florida or Hanover, it’s essential to grab onto each passing moment and hold it close to my chest. Perhaps I should remember not to allow tiny, irrelevant details to prevent my enjoyment of what’s going on around me. I’ll make my own little paradise and relish the sunshine, whether I’m relaxing in my Orlando backyard or laying down on the Dartmouth Green.
