After nine months away, being back feels really strange. Home has an odd duality, so familiar I can navigate with my eyes closed yet also very different to how I remember it. T.S. Eliot once stated that someone really can’t know their home until they go away, and it’s certainly true for me. I finally decided how to handle these feelings, with one last day of exploration. Like most Massachusetts kids, we learned about the start of the Revolution: Paul Revere’s ride, the Battle of Bunker Hill, and so forth. In grade school, we visited most of those sites. I haven’t been back since. One of the ironies of travel is many people seek out thin
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