different.

   It’s definitely the little things you notice about your hometown after being absent for a while. When I left for college, I pictured my new town being larger and with more activity than in the place I was leaving behind. I pictured people out downtown on the weekends, dressed up with somewhere to go. I pictured countless concerts and performances to attend whenever I needed something to do. I imagined the glow of city lights and the hum of traffic from outside my apartment. I was excited for the new setting and the endless possibilities that came along with it.

   Well my new town had all those things after all. It was larger with substantially more activity, but only when you had someplace to go. I missed being able to cross town in less than ten minutes, even during the lunch hour. Instead it would take me twenty minutes just to go from 7^th street to 19^th, and that wasn’t even during 5 o’clock traffic.

   There were people downtown all right. Dressed up and laughing, girls clacking down the snowy streets in their waterproof heels. It was intriguing to see nightlife since there isn’t much of it back home. It was also disgruntling to know I’d have to wait a few years to enjoy it legally. That didn’t entirely stop me, however. Maybe I’ll do a story on that adventure later.

   As far as the countless concerts and performances, they must go under the radar. I still find myself uninformed about the underground bands that pass through. But after realizing what genre of people typically frequent those concerts, I find I’m alright with not joining. Funny how you picture things being then realize how they actually are.

   The glow of the city lights unfortunately does not penetrate more than a few blocks from Main Street. The humming traffic outside my window is comforting at times, but only when I force myself to recall how badly I wanted a city life. I miss hearing the birds outside my window back home and the occasional wild turkey come gobbling by. Instead I hear multiple lawnmowers within varying distances from my apartment, dogs barking at God knows what, and the endless growl of passing traffic. Charming, is it not?

   Upon returning to my hometown for this month-long reprieve from college, I’ve noticed things I never really noticed before:

1. There is an invisible yet known line between “town” and your house where, upon crossing, you must wave to any vehicle you pass on your route to or from home. For instance, if I’m leaving my house and beginning the 15 minute trek to our local coffee shop, I must wave to anyone and anything when we cross paths. Because my route takes me mainly on back roads, this courtesy is extended until I reach the western half of Main Street in which it would be ridiculous to wave to each car I see. That’s where my invisible line is crossed.

   I learned that from watching my parents in my pre-driving days. At first I just thought it was awkward and would tell my parents to stop, that they were embarrassing me. No one waves at you in Utah unless they’re trying to be creepy. I really didn’t want to be known as the new girl with the creepy parents. But once I gained my license, I found myself doing the exact same thing. Not only that, but everyone waves. It’s just what we do.

   I forget that when I come home. No one waves in College Town.

2. Another thing I’ve realized is speed limits aren’t mandatory here. It’s more of a recommendation, an option if you will. It’s rare to see everyone going 45 on a road with a speed limit of 45. Most go faster but a handful go slower. No one goes 45. Back at school, if you’re on a road that’s meant to be traveled at 45, you better dang well be going 45. Not 43, not 47, but 45. I don’t know who’s more relentless, the cops or the others on the road. If you’re going what has been determined as “too slow” for the rest of the folk on the road, you will be tailgated, honked at, flipped the bird, cut in front of. If you go too fast, there will be a cop waiting, just waiting. Needless to say, I’ve enjoyed my worry-free commute to town these past few weeks. Sometimes I go 40 instead of 45, just because I can. Strangely enough, no one honks.

3. Last but most certainly not least, I’ve noticed small-town folk have a very clear understanding of what the yellow light means at an intersection. For some unknown reason, drivers from larger towns correlate “yellow” to “speed up and make it through this light, gosh dangit, because I am in way too much of a hurry to possibly wait for this light to cycle all the way back to green again”. Back home, it’s much different. Yellow means “oh, looky there, yellow. I’ll slow her on down and not be that jerk that barely makes it through the intersection before the adjacent cars start moving”. Such an opposite thought process. Personally, I wish I could get out of my car and yell at the all-too-important person that does that. Where are you going that you need to risk your life, your passengers’ lives, the lives of others on the road? Why are you so impatient? Why can’t you just wait a minute and twenty seconds until you’re free to safely travel through? I guess I’ll never know.

   As annoying as it is to be behind the person that comes to a complete stop when the light turns yellow, I’ve gained a newfound appreciation for them. I respect their lack of impatience and their will to simply wait a second. Sometimes you just need to wait a second.

   I repeat, funny how you picture things being and then realize how they actually are.