Homecoming 2020
“Homecoming” used to mean fall football games and over-dressing in tulle for the semi-formal dance. It marked the beginning of a New School Year and maybe, a New You.
Over the summer you grew out of your old clothes, you read a lot of books and watched all the TV, maybe you got a job to save up your own money, maybe you travelled and learned more about yourself. You started to get a taste of independence and what that might mean once you’re finally on your own. You come back in the fall with something to prove, and that’s exactly what you intend to do.
But what does it mean to “come home” after a summer when you didn’t go anywhere? After not just three, but nearly seven months of sheltering in place? In a lot of ways, perhaps this past season of quarantine hasn’t been that different from the summer vacations of your childhood. I mean—my pants definitely fit “differently” now than they did in the spring. I’ve done my darnedest to read every book on the shelf and binge-watch soaps on every streaming service out there. I’ve miraculously put more money in my savings account than I ever have since moving to New York while simultaneously being barred from doing the restaurant work I’ve always relied on. And through adventures on bike and the open road, I’ve explored more of my own city and this vast country than ever before.
Then all of a sudden it’s September, and that feeling of return is upon us. Return…to what, tho?
This past summer, I had the very fortunate opportunity to lengthen my yearly pilgrimage to the Pacific Northwest, my birthplace and old stomping ground. In June, my roommate/best friend Julian and I rented a Chrysler Pacifica [highly recommend] and drove across the entire United States. Over the course of two weeks, we hauled ass while making sure we soaked in all possible nature—camping every night and making sandwich wraps in the backseat to keep us going and keep us out of contact with as many people as possible. Once we landed in the PNW without any real plan or return flights, it became obvious that that was the place to wait out an NYC summer. Two and a half months later, find me still at my parents’ house with too much secondhand inventory to pack and never enough time with my favorite people. Add that to air travel being as unenticing as ever, I continued [and continued] to push my return flight home.
On my favorite Leo’s late August birthday, she asked if she could pick out a piece of vintage lingerie from my collection. While browsing, she informed me: “I’ve decided I love my shape. I was looking in the mirror this morning and I love every part of my body. It’s great!” To which I replied “YASSSS QWEEN!!! Not only am I thrilled that you finally see what I see, but also that means you’ll be happy to be my model right?!” And she did. And she looked g-o-r-g-e-o-u-s.
And it got me thinking…
I’m at a point in my life where Homecoming Season no longer carries the same meaning it did when I was a teenager. Thank. GOD.
Now, I think of it more like a season of life where we’re coming home to our selves, feeling at home in our bodies, and building a home in our minds.
At the top of this year I couldn’t have dreamed I would be afforded the invaluable privilege of an extended romp-about. It was amazing! It also provided me an abundance of uninterrupted time think about what T.F. I plan to do with my uncertain future. Amidst a handful of mini-meltdowns and existential panic attacks, this past season has made one thing blatantly clear: if I don’t make a real go of starting my dream business now, when everything else is on pause…then I don’t deserve to be in charge of myself at all. As dreadful as a global pandemic is, it’s also provided space for a sort of widespread reckoning.
So, what happens when everything you’ve counted on as a given…has given way to an anxiety-ridden unknown? What do you do if you can no longer do what you’ve always done? What if…you were doing the wrong thing all along??
Once I stopped thinking about a foray into entrepreneurship as an overwhelmingly risky endeavor and started framing it as a return to where I’ve always found fulfillment, I couldn’t wait to start my own “New School Year”.
I call it GrandMother Goods—your one-stop shoppe for navigating sustainable living, dressing, and thinking in a world that can’t afford the alternative.