Going home for the holidays when you're in your mid-20s is such an odd thing. I often wonder at what age is it no longer appropriate to be sleeping in your childhood twin size bed during breaks from work. In my mind, it should always be OK—with this sort of stuff, I usually defer to the movies. If they do it in a smash hit rom-com, it must be normal. I'm just not sure I love it, what with the awkward grocery store run-ins, realizing your old favorite restaurants aren’t really that great, explaining your current employment situation at minimum 10x per day…I’d rather be close to home, with enough distance from my parents to actually enjoy the experience.
But at some point you’ve got to suck it up and say “I’ve been working too hard not to enjoy this 'vacation.'' And when you think about it, isn’t it nice that getting drinks is affordable again? Or getting to act like a kid again in the good ways—hot cocoa, sledding, watching the Muppet Christmas Carol and tearing up at the end? Maybe everyone’s engaged except you and maybe that hometown fling you envisioned is absolutely totally not going to happen because of that. But it’s all worth it when, in spite of all the free food and booze you soak up in the two to four days you spend there, your parents finally treat you like an adult and it’s priceless.
Photographed by Tom Newton.