Photo by bemek on Flickr, licensed under the Creative Commons.

I close my eyes and I see my six year old self in Westhampton — a little town on Long Island — standing next to a railing with my grandparents, eating a gingerbread cookie from Simon’s Beach Bakery. A winding road runs through the middle of town, cluttered with high-end boutiques, eateries and little shops on each side. There is a bookstore called The Open Book and I wander in, eyes wide in awe of all the bound pages. All the worlds I long to explore. My grandpa lets me pick out a book, and of course I pick Nancy Drew. She was the badass I always wanted to be.

We leave the bookstore and my eyes automatically spot the Ben and Jerry’s across the street. I tug on my grandpa’s pants and beg him to get me some ice cream. He acquiesces immediately — the true mark of a grandparent who isn’t much concerned with the extent to which he spoils his grandchildren. My grandma rolls her eyes at how easily I charm my grandpa, but follows us into the shop. I get a small cup of vanilla ice cream and the three of us walk down the sidewalk enjoying the cool breeze of autumn.

I see my fourteen year-old self at my best friend’s house in Manorville, the town I grew up in. I see us walking to her backyard to enjoy the summer night. It’s large, as are most of the backyards in the suburb where I live. There are two hammocks gently swaying side by side and we each climb onto one. I put on headphones and start listening to music as I think about what I did that day.

I had been at Westhampton beach with my friends and spent the day swimming in the cool, salty water, running up and down the beach boardwalk and sitting on the rocks next to the lighthouse watching the boaters sail by. The loud music shakes me, and I look at the black sky and the shimmering diamond stars. Suddenly, I see a golden shimmer dart across the sky and I realize that it’s a shooting star — anything is possible.

I see my eighteen year old self back in Westhampton with my grandpa, reveling in the sun. It is a perfect summer day, and I’m making an attempt to say goodbye to Long Island before I embark on a new journey the next day: college. As my grandpa and I walk side by side, memories play out in my head. A sixteen year-old devouring a mountainous ice cream sundae to celebrate a birthday at the Post Stop Café; a thirteen year old wandering and lost, seeking answers.

I’ll never be able to completely say goodbye to Long Island, with its wide open spaces, charming towns, beautiful beaches and dynamic people. It’s a completely unique and completely separate culture. My eyes are open now and I can see how much the experiences I had on Long Island shaped who I am, and the person I will become. Maybe home really is where the heart is.