Remember when we used to have to stand on our tippy toes to see over the ice cream counter and check out the flavors? Remember how some places had little steps so you didn’t have to? I forgot about that. Seeing this almost made me cry. My whole point of view has changed with a few years and a few inches. Every memory is starting to feel distant.

My baby cousin Claire is turning 15 this month and getting her permit! This is something we’ve talked about since she was seven. I can’t believe it. I feel so old. And I feel so annoying for saying that because it’s such a cliché. I just saw Claire in November, but I swear she’s grown four inches since then. Claire used to have a bob and would never brush her hair. Now her hair is long, and she has seven-plus hairbrushes. Claire used to hate pictures and refused to give hugs. Claire smiled in a picture and hugged me without hesitation. My grandma got her dog, Gypsy, four years ago. It feels like yesterday.

Coming home is hard, but sometimes coming to Asheville is even harder. Asheville has always been my second home, and when the hurricane hit last fall, I knew it would never be the same. There’s destruction everywhere—trees and debris piled up on the side of every road, shopping centers wiped out, so many family-owned and local businesses struggling to recover. It’s devastating. But Asheville is a city that loves and supports. I don’t live there, so maybe ignorance is bliss, but whenever I’m there, I feel such a strong sense of community. It’s beautiful and sacred. Asheville is full of artists and dreamers. Asheville is inspiring. It’s hippie-dippie-ville, and everything is okay there. People have mohawk dreadlocks. People know their neighbors. People take care of each other.

Maybe I feel this way because my family lives there—I don’t know. But Asheville reminds me of what it means to be part of a community, to be part of a family.

Coming home is hard. It’s hard getting older, realizing that everyone around me is aging too, and somehow, I keep forgetting that.

I love how sentimental I am. I love little things that remind me of a memory. I love telling stories. I love how that little ledge at the ice cream shop brought me back to a moment I forgot existed.

Loving is scary because it means losing what you love is inevitable.

How do I balance my love for sentimental objects and distant memories with living in the moment?

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
Mmm
Well, I've been 'fraid of changin'
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm gettin' older, too