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.