An Ode to Ohio, Oak Trees, and Vintage Finds

I didn’t appreciate my hometown until I left. Now every time I go back, I feel a kind of peace I can’t find anywhere else. The same predictability that once made me feel stuck now makes me feel grounded.

The cups I grew up drinking from are still stacked in the kitchen cabinet. My mom still loads food on the same plates she’s had forever. My best friends, the ones who knew me before I knew myself, still call it home too. There’s something grounding about that sameness, something I didn’t appreciate until I left.

Days move slower there. They’re stitched together with the simplest rituals: Folgers coffee on the back deck, thrift stores and antique shops, backyard fires, The Grateful Dead spilling through open windows. I walk through my favorite metro park, sit beneath oak trees, and listen to Miles Davis. The air smells like home, couches still smell like my grandma’s house. Falling asleep with the window open doesn’t feel scary. I go grocery shopping with my mom, try on cashmere sweaters that once belonged to someone else, and remember what it feels like to breathe without rushing.

Playlist:

• You’re Gonna Miss Me – Connie Francis

• Blue In Green - Miles Davis

• Lay, Lady, Lay – Bob Dylan

• Jack-A-Roe - The Grateful Dead

• I Call Your Name – The Mamas & Papas

• Sincerely – The Moonglows

• I Walk the Line – Johnny Cash

• Ripple – The Grateful Dead

• Ohio – Doris Day

• Dream A Little Dream Of Me - Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong

• Someone In Love - Chet Baker

I always leave Ohio full — full of air, of gratitude, of that familiar ache that reminds me how much I love to leave and how much I love to come back.