Our new house is almost exactly one mile from the house where I grew up. I know when you graduate from college, one of the last things you want to do is move back home, but life is quite different for me now that it was when I was 22. Our last place, on the far north side of Chicago, was great, but last winter I moved out, at least in my brain. Having a dog that needs to be walked three or four times a day, a small active child who needs room to run around and play, not to mention two cats who basically negated me spending time in half the house, plus the dreaded eventual school situation and my husband's growing business (and growing supply of film equipment) meant we needed more space. I wanted quiet, stability, a house we could spend a day in without feeling crazy.

School-wise, I know some people have the philosophy that it's one's obligation to stay in the city they live in and fight for better schools for their children (and not just their children, but the city's children) but the temptation was just too great not to move just a few miles north home to Evanston, where the public school system is not nearly the confusing, confounding glob it apparently is in Chicago (although maybe it is and I just haven't learned it yet, but it didn't seem to be when I was a kid.) I attended a small, diverse Catholic K-8 school that we happen to live mere blocks from now, and after that a gigantic, even more diverse public school for high school. I was disdainful of my high school by the time I left but I became increasingly proud of it the more time I spent in college at Georgetown where I met true snobs and so-called liberals who never really knew a person of color. Plus, Evanston is not really the suburbs (so we tell ourselves.) I live less than a mile from the Evanston/Chicago border. So, it'd be like we had all the benefits of the suburbs but were still kinda city people.

I know there are some people who left and happily never looked back but Evanston's not the kind of town, it seems, where moving home means crawling back with your tail between your legs. A lot of us who grew up there eventually realized, no, it's not perfect, but you could do a hell of a lot worse when it comes to picking a town to settle and raise your family in. If you despise running into people from your past, I would certainly advise moving back home here. Walk through a street fair or even just take harried trip through the McGaw Y to get to your kid's swim class and you will run into someone you went to school or camp with. I think it's a good sign, though. Some of our new neighbors are parents of kids I went to school with, which means they liked it enough to stay, and have already been helpful in introducing us around and telling us what's up in our neighborhood.

Being an adult in your home town is more than just moving home and knowing where the best place to get pizza or hummus is (Pita Inn, in Skokie.) I realize now how much I took for granted when I was a kid here, all the parks and services and activities that my parents sought out and involved us in, because now we're looking to do the same for our kid. And the taxes. I read the small community paper we get and realize eventually we're probably going to need to invest ourselves in this town if we want to call it our own--I'm not sure how yet--school board, or volunteering, or I don't know what. We'll figure it out.

It's an interesting form of time travel, too, to move back to your home town (just growing older is, I guess.) The other day I went to run some errands on Main Street, the main drag I live near now, that I used to walk home from school down, and then later, as a young adult, I'd walk up to catch the El to go to work. Some things are the same: the fancy chocolate shop is still there, and Dave's Down-to-Earth Rock shop, and other things have changed: the bakery is gone, the frame store no longer sells art supplies. Is it nicer than I remember? Has my definition of "nice" changed? Look at all those middle aged people I would never have noticed ten or more years ago. I'm almost their age now. Maybe I am their age.

Since we just moved in, and it's winter, and I'm pregnant, I don't think we'll really find our spot in this new-old community for probably a full year yet. We're nesting, as they say. Some parts, the adult parts, of living here are already kind of a drag (you have to buy city stickers to get your leaves taken away?!) but it's nice to really feel like I'm home. Not my old home. It's a new home, but one where I know at least where to get the good hummus.