Sitting here typing this up on my friend's couch after having spent a night in my hometown (sorta - this isn't the exact location - but the same metro area) - Philly. Yesterday we walked by the two houses, both in the same neighborhood, where I lived when I was little. My family moved from here to the San Francisco Bay Area when I was eight, going on nine years old. I never returned until about fifteen years ago. My husband had taken a job on the east coast and we moved our two daughters across country. My son was born after the move. One year my husband had a trade show to attend here in the Philly area and we brought the kids along and while he was busy, I drove us around and found the old sights. It's strange. Some things are familiar. But not in the way that something that you've lived with for a long time are familiar.
Plus, so much has happened with me in those intervening fifteen years since I first returned here. I may be pondering this for days.