I went back to Branson yesterday. I drove down familiar roads and visited familiar faces. The years are growing farther and wider since calling this place home, but home it will always be. On my way out of town, I stopped by my old study spot to grab some coffee. I didn’t recognize a soul there. It felt like old times had faded and new faces had taken over. It was their home now. Not mine. I was mad. This used to be my place. Did they value it like I did? As laughter and music and love filled the room, it hit me.
Life goes on. It doesn’t stop when we leave. My home was somewhere else now, not in Branson. I had left. I moved away and grabbed on to new things. I planted my roots in new ground and same with the people inside this shop. This was where they were planted now. They were home and I was just a visitor passing by an old familiar town. As I walked back to my car, I felt the same goodbyes that I did four years ago.
No matter how many times I could leave or how long I could go without coming back here, the goodbyes were always the same - a “see you later” with an invite back. I am always welcomed back. This town will always be a home, no matter where my home was.