S T A T E M E N T
“Hometown”: a word with
a
seemingly
straightforward
definition, bringing to mind
elements of one’s childhood and
the relationships that shaped it.
In college — especially a college
with a large student body, like
the University of Michigan’s
healthy diversity of in-state
versus
out-of-state
students
— the concept of a hometown
adopts an entirely new meaning.
This is precisely because every
student’s perceptions of their
hometown are distinct, molded
by their unique experiences.
This fascination (and maybe
an added desire to visit a new
place) drives many to embark on
journeys to their college friends’
hometowns. These hometown
visits are an opportunity to
discover the roots of your closest
friends, to see why they are
who they are, or why they’ve
come into college looking for
change or expansion. It’s an
intriguing part of relationship-
building, immersing yourself in
the lifestyle of someone close
to you, a concept that has even
been codified among prominent
pop culture franchises like “The
Bachelor.”
But whether you’re hosting
or visiting, hometown visits can
be jarring, like puzzle pieces
belonging to different sets that
are pushed together in the
hopes of fitting. It can seem as
if individuals from your friends’
lives have suddenly been copied
and pasted into your own.
The idea of taking college
friends to a childhood home can
present a cocktail of emotions:
stress, excitement, fear or even
embarrassment. There is an
inherent
privilege
in
being
able to bring people home and
enfold them within a piece of
your past. For some, parents
or relatives scattered across
multiple homes or cities may
complicate the idea of hosting
school friends. For others, it
can be anxiety-inducing to go
back to a childhood home where
they cannot express their true
identity. If family or hometown
community
members
don’t
support expression of one’s
gender or sexuality, returning
to these places may drain
individuals of energy or a sense
of safety.
The word “hometown” may
feel like a contradiction if the
place where someone grew
up wasn’t always welcoming
enough to call “home.”
I am fortunate enough to feel
comfortable returning home and
to possess strong relationships
with members of my immediate
family, as are several of my
college friends. Over the past
year, I’ve been able to go on
and host my own hometown
visits with the people I’ve met
in college. Whether I spent an
evening or a week in these new
environments, each has granted
me a glimpse into the lives of
those I’ve really only known
for a couple years but feel as if
I’ve known for much longer.
The biggest thing I’ve learned
from these mini-vacations is
this: Hometown visits can leave
very
different
impressions,
depending on the character
of people’s relationships with
their communities of origin
and especially with the people
within these communities.
College is a time characterized
by
change,
where
many
develop into different versions
of themselves. And past and
present versions of self collide
on hometown trips — so is this
clash discordant or harmonious?
Can it be both? What does this
imply about your friends, your
relationships with them? And
is it really so bad if the mixing
of
worlds
isn’t
completely
effortless?
Preparing for the visit
There really isn’t a surefire
way to prepare for a hometown
visit. Like any trip, logistics are
always
important
(timeline,
lodging, food, budget, activities),
especially if you’re the one
hosting. But there is no way to
completely predict how you —
or your college guests — will
interact with the “other” group:
your family and high school
friends. The best thing to do is
get an idea of the setting and the
characters of the people you’ll
run into during your stay.
I grew up in the suburbs of a
Midwestern city, like many of my
friends, so their descriptions of
their hometowns were short and
to the point. They shared their
favorite restaurants, commercial
areas, parks or attractions in
nearby urban areas that we could
explore as part of our visit. They
coordinated with their parents
about meals and activities. One
of my friends even sent a daily
itinerary and packing list, just to
be clear on the plan.
These preparatory details are
fairly characteristic of all trips.
But the most distinguishing
detail of the hometown trip is
preparing specifically for the
people: how your friends act
around them, what you might
talk about and the attitudes of
everyone you may meet.
Mental preparation on both
the hosts’ and the guests’ behalf
often coincides with logistical
readiness. My friends have had
varied reactions to bringing
their University buddies back to
their hometowns. While they all
have strong relationships with
their families, the prospect of
actually making the trip back, to
spending prolonged periods of
time in a place they had largely
grown out of, make some wary
to return.
One way to clarify a friend’s
relationship
with
their
hometown is to take note of the
verbiage they use to describe
it. In one conversation with
my roommate, I struggled to
find the words to describe my
childhood home. He had said
“your parents’ house” while I
settled on “my home home.”
Even though I’ve only lived
there about two months thus far
in 2022, I still mentally classify
it as my personal headquarters.
The degrees of separation from
hometowns
are
extremely
varied in college as the concept
of
independence
takes
on
different forms.
On one of my overnight stays,
I got into my host’s car, ready
for the multiple-hour drive,
and sensed that his emotions
were
somewhat
unreadable,
his mind occupied. Though
he was very close with his
extended family, he told me on
the drive back to school that
being with his family stressed
him out. He was someone used
to living independently and
self-sufficiently, not needing to
be directly in the vicinity of his
childhood home.
One of my other friends
outlined how I and another
college guest would be spending
ample time with their entire
family, a normal and enjoyable
prospect for them — while
I
mentally
energized
my
introverted self for a night of
extensive
socializing.
On
a
different occasion, I watched
a friend remove the nail polish
from his fingers in preparation
for a hometown visit, not wanting
to deal with the comments
his family might make if they
saw it on him. Another, whose
hometown I still have never
been to, said many months ago
that she would take us there for
an hour and then would want to
come back to Ann Arbor.
The mental preparation for
taking on a hometown visit,
whether you are visiting or
hosting, is extremely subjective.
Absorb the information given to
you, directly or indirectly, about
the energy and relationships
you might encounter. But the
only way to truly experience a
hometown visit is to dive right
in.
During the visits: Some
snippets
I shoved the chicken-infused
filling
into
the
dumpling
wrapper, careful not to put too
much — or even worse, too little
— into the delicious pocket, lest
it break when it was boiled. I
carefully folded the dough into
a half-moon shape, pinching
the ends delicately so it would
close without ripping. It was
delicate work, and the people
surrounding
me,
who
had
been cooking this delicacy for
years, were watching closely. I
wondered if they thought they
would have to swoop in to save
me.
I was stressed. Though I kept
up positive chatter, I felt like if
I messed up, they might think
me inept, incapable. This might
seem like a ridiculous thought,
especially knowing how nice
my roommate’s parents were.
Though I had met them more
than a handful of times, I was
genuinely uncertain about their
judgment of my character based
on this task, now that I was in
their home. There is an inherent
intimacy bred from entering
someone’s house, that because I
was an outsider, more scrutiny
could be placed on me if I didn’t
fit into their expectations.
I had an incredibly enjoyable
night
at
my
roommate’s
childhood home and always love
to return, but the idea that I had
to prove myself kept asserting
itself in my mind. As a fairly new
entry into my roommate’s circle
of friends, I felt as if I had to
make up for lost time. I had to be
the perfect guest.
***
After the four-hour drive,
my tired mind was completely
unprepared for the influx of
people
buzzing
around
my
friend, Noah’s, home. Our other
college friend, Anna, and I were
immediately introduced to his
parents, brothers, grandparents
(who lived next door) and
several family friends, the group
growing larger as the night
progressed. We all went to work
preparing the build-your-own
taco feast for dinner, an activity
I was grateful for as it gave me
something to do, some way to
make myself useful.
At times, Ann Arbor grows
restless: Students pass one another
carelessly and in a hurry. Each
bustles noisily, but none pause to
listen. Sights and sounds of half
a hundred comings and goings
whittle me down to the bone.
Feeling buried in the anarchic
sounds of a tireless campus, I
endeavor to make some time
for myself; time to unwind and
decompress in solitude and silence.
As far as solo endeavors go,
Forest Hill Cemetery is the place to
visit. Its tone is somber, of course,
but also imbued with the joy of
lives that have crossed the finish
line; it’s joyous in a content way
that only a burial ground can be.
In addition to basic information,
some choose to inscribe their
headstones with verses and simple
artwork. Poetry and other such
non-name inscriptions come few
and far between, but they come
with the assurance of importance:
A lifetime’s meaning etched into
rock. Standing on the old cement
walkway, I can still make out the
sounds of traffic on Geddes Avenue,
but they fade to a distant hum as I
press on deeper into the trees.
The acreage of Forest Hill
Cemetery is much smaller than
that of the Nichols Arboretum, and
the sounds of the city lie closer,
but the crowds are fewer. I do pass
other souls during my walk; one
woman wears headphones. Quite
a pity. She doesn’t know what she’s
missing. She can’t hear the silence.
My ears acclimate to the forest
after a time. The cemetery is its
own sort of loud. Farther along
the path, the most hidden sounds
emerge: those of birds and squirrels
or perhaps a frog. Undercurrents to
it all are the sweep of the wind and
a great clatter of dry, fallen leaves,
near and far.
If Forest Hill Cemetery grants
me the gift of the sound of silence,
then a Mason Hall stairwell 10
minutes to the hour grants me the
exact opposite stimuli. It’s 12:50
p.m. on a Tuesday. A myriad of
students hold the doors eternally
open, passing the responsibility
hand to hand, furthering the
camaraderie as each person hurries
along their way. Scattered laughs
and tired coughs reverberate up
through the communal abyss, a
cacophony of auditory updates on
the human condition.
Soles of shoes scuffle and smack
down on each step. The walls echo
with indistinguishable chatter like
an elementary school gymnasium
during basketball practice. In the
dry heat of half a dozen radiators,
coats unzip, freshly arrived from
the chill outside. The cold burns
into warmth as heart rates climb
with each stair.
As suddenly as it came, the flurry
of energy fades, punctuated by the
hastened pace of the stragglers.
By 1 p.m., students have shuffled
into classrooms. Again, silence.
Deafening silence, artificial silence.
The herds of horses have trampled
away, leaving only a cloud of dust in
their wake.
The emptiness brings relief but
only somewhat. The quiet between
these narrow walls was sorely
won and evoked a sense almost of
desolation, standing in contrast
to the restlessness found in an
expanse of open air.
***
Many people are in search
of more silence in some aspects
of their lives. The New Yorker
magazine
writer
Jane
Brox
laments the replacement of silent
time, first through the family radio,
then through headphones and the
ceaseless playing of music.
She explains the crucial role of
quiet in her day, saying, “The quiet
feels spacious — a place in which
my thoughts can roam as I work.”
To Brox’s point, silence can have
a marked positive effect on a work
environment, particularly the sorts
of environments in which students
often find themselves: prolonged
desk work that is sedentary and
stress-laden.
Atalanta Beaumont writes for
Psychology Today on the health
benefits of simple silence, listing
“low
blood
pressure,”
“brain
growth” and “relieved tension”
among the proven advantages to
working in silence rather than with
noise like background music.
Though the mental and health
benefits of simply working without
a commotion are powerful, I argue
that the spirit of silence, more so
than just a literal absence of noise,
would best be found in solitude, in
places like the Forest Hill Cemetery.
At this stage in fall, the trees blend
together, standing so perfectly in
patterns of yellow and red that they
seem to have been arranged that
way deliberately. Solitude affords
a view — an empty landscape that’s
all yours — and a gratitude to the
space left untarnished by the touch
of humankind.
And yet, an absence of company
indoors, such as in a room or empty
home, though a privilege, risks
loneliness. Personally, I need space
to roam in my quiet moments, to
feel active and evade depression.
I’ve often fallen into the trap
of inviting physical or digital
company every time I go for a walk
or head out to lunch. Two birds,
one stone — right? I often jump on
the opportunity to check up on that
old friend from Bursley Residence
Hall, call my family, peruse
discussion boards about that new
Star Wars show as I enjoy down
time in an overly-packed schedule.
But to me, it is so much more
fulfilling to sit alone at night with
a movie or a book than it is to
lie alone, scrolling endlessly on
social media or rewatching even a
cherished sitcom. Perhaps a book,
or even a movie, constitutes a more
deliberate, lengthy undertaking,
much like a walk in the cemetery.
Holly Burns, writing for the
New York Times, explains the
difference
between
deliberate
solitude and loneliness well. Burns
spoke with a lighthouse keeper
who had spent much of the last 19
years alone on an island. From her
conversation, she concluded that
“Solitude is much more enjoyable if
you’re in control of it.”
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
8 — Wednesday, November 2, 2022
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
SARAH STOLAR
Statement Correspondent
Deconstructing the hometown visit
Pursuit of solitude on this bustling campus
JOHN JACKSON
Statement Columnist
Design by Priya Ganji
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
JEREMY WEINE/Daily
Students descend a staircase after leaving class in Mason Hall Monday, October 31.