Literature and others are filled with homecomings.
They love them.
Think of Odysseus and Penelope.
Or... more importantly, think of Desmond and Penny.
Ok. Now just think of Desmond.
I think I am losing my focus.
The point is that literature loves a homecoming.
My question is: do I?
I am beginning to think that there is no such thing as a true homecoming.
I think (if I am getting my Greeks right) that Heraclitus said that a person cannot stand in the same river twice.
(I checked - this Geek knows her Greeks).
Last week, I went to Rutgers to show my sister-in-law around. While crossing the bridge from Cook to Douglass, I was glad that I had gone there, and missed my experiences, but I knew if I returned - even if for a phD - it would not be the same.
Predominantly because I am not the same. I look back and so much and wonder why.
Usually, why was I worried or upset or freaking out...
and look back at other things and wished I still had the guts (I went into a crowded dining hall dressed as a fairy to get people to go see a play? What was I thinking?).
And now, on Beginning of School Eve Eve (tomorrow teachers, Thursday the world!!!.... or at least, students), I am sad because even if my posters are the same (mostly) or my setup is the same, or even if my plans are the same (rarely), it will inevitably not be the same.
I can try for the same jokes or be the same person, but... each year it's different.
Frankly, even if I teach two of the same class in a year, the experience is always different.
And so, while it is a homecoming of sorts, and while I may make sarcastic comments through yet another homecoming pep rally, it is not quite like going home.