Downtown Fort Wayne (Credit: Downtown Fort Wayne Instagram)
For some reason, my trips home always seem to come at the perfect time. I am feeling overwhelmed with a class, struggling with a relationship, unsure of the next steps in my academic or professional career, or feeling increasingly alienated from my faith and faith communities. Then, I have a break. Fall break, Thanksgiving break, Christmas break. I load up my car, lock up my place, and start the now-familiar trip back home.
I cruise down I-69 headed north from Indy and see “The Best Chocolate is Found in Uranus” billboard off the side of the road, roll my eyes, and realize, “yep, I’m definitely getting close to home.” As my car turns onto Lexington Avenue and passes the old campus of Taylor University Fort Wayne, the place my parents met, I know that I am seconds away from the loving embrace of my two favorite people.
Last year, I made a detour on Thanksgiving break to see my girlfriend before returning to Fort Wayne for the week. While together, we decided things weren’t working out with a long-distance relationship and we broke up. That, along with the difficult semester at IU, left me feeling lost. The small kindness of it all was that I got to go home for the next week; I got to see my parents and my friends, the people who know me best. I could surround myself with the people who have known me the longest and they could remind me who I was, that maybe I wasn’t so lost after all.
This year it’s nothing that dramatic. The week at home seemed quiet but also busy at the same time with last-minute plans and a “just one more quick lunch.” Still, there were a few things I needed advice on, a few things that have been weighing heavily on my mind. So, I turned to the people I trust to seek their counsel.
It’s weird. For the last year and a half, Bloomington has been my home in every sense of the word. It is where I live and work. I have friends and connections here, activities I do on the weekends, and responsibilities. When I come back to my studio apartment after a trip, I feel like I am walking into my home, a place that holds so many memories—both good and bad—and a place that I have formed into my own sanctuary of sorts. Still, there is always that desire for home, my other home. When I feel like I am losing myself, I return home to be reminded of who I am.
Before I left for college, I received periodic reminders from people to “be careful at college” and “don’t let those liberals lead you astray.” While the crux of the sentiment leaves me rolling my eyes, there is, surprisingly, some truth to these thoughts. There are times at IU when I forget myself. I get discouraged and I forget why I am here. I become overwhelmed by the routine and struggle to see the goal I am working toward. I start to lose my identity and purpose. Not in the cringeworthy “you are going to become one of those crazy liberals if you aren’t careful” way, but in the “does what I’m doing here matter?” way.
Then, I return home to be reminded of who I am. When I see my parents, I see myself. I am the son of a woman who is unfailingly kind—to a fault—but not afraid to stand up for herself, others, or what she believes, being direct and firm if necessary. She is fiercely intelligent and uncommonly caring. I am the son of a man who loves and serves people wholly and completely. He reminds me of the humor of life through his constant ornery spirit and he shows me how to be a hard worker no matter what life throws my way. I carry their legacy with me wherever I go—no matter how far I am from home.
Then, there are the places. There is the courthouse where downtown Fort Wayne stood still and silent while my uncle, an Allen County Sheriff’s officer, received his final radio call before he was laid to rest. There is the YMCA where I poured my fresh grief and anger onto the basketball court after my grandfather’s unexpected death in 2018 because I had nowhere else to turn. There is the Five Guys in Times Corners, Pawpaw and I’s favorite restaurant, that brings back a flood of memories every time I pass it on the way to my grandma’s house where an empty chair reminds me how short our time together is. There is the church next to the mall where I met my best friends and memorized pages and pages of Bible verses, verses that cause me to cling to my faith today despite all odds. There is my grandparents’ house, warm and filled with love—and good baking. There is my friends’ apartment, a place that has felt like a second home to me over the past few years since I helped them move in July 2020, where I join in a poker game and loving community whenever I am home. There is the downtown Starbucks, a place where I have laughed, cried, and created some of my favorite memories with my mom. There is the church I worked at for six years with my dad, the Panera where I had my first date, the mall I have spent hours roaming around with my best friends, and the McAlister’s my dad and I have spent hours at, drinking tea and talking about life.
Sometimes, I just need to return to these places and these people. I need to be reminded of the memories—both good and bad—that shaped me into who I am today. I need to see the people there. As much as the conservative Christian spaces I came from in Fort Wayne often frustrate me, there is still a deep need in my heart to return and see the people there. There is a sort of tension that exists. While I acknowledge that I’ve changed since I left and I will probably never call Fort Wayne my physical home again, there is still part of my heart that lives with the city and the people there and it always will.
So, I return. I see the people I love. I have conversations that remind me of who I am and why I am where I am. I see people who remind me of the example that I am striving toward, and I see others who remind me of the type of person I am so desperately trying not to be. And, frankly, I need both. As I grow older, I am starting to realize that life is complicated, imperfect, and rarely black and white. Still, I am too much like my mother; I want things to be nice, neat, and organized. I want them to fit into their assigned boxes and stay there. But this is impossible. Life is just too messy, too wild, and too complicated. Maybe, if nothing else, these trips remind me that it’s okay not to have it all figured out and for life to be messy. It’s okay to struggle and not always know what I am doing. It’s okay to be me and know that I am enough as I am. It’s almost ironic that a place I spent so much time planning to run away from would still leave such a hold on me—even after I left.
Thanks for everything, Fort Wayne. I’ll be back again soon.
With all my love,
Zeb
Zebadiah Demorest 