The night before Thanksgiving in Roanoke, Virginia (as I am sure it is in other cities as suggested by this article in The Onion) is often a bit of a high school reunion. You run into a pretty large number of people who look familiar to you even though you don't know their name, but if you arm yourself with a couple close friends you've stayed in contact with, it's usually a really good experience.

I write a lot about college and how much it made me into who I am today, but I tend to skip over high school. I really loved my time growing up and going to school where I did, but for some reason going back and and seeing old friends that I've lost touch with sometimes makes me feel a little melancholy. We met up with friends of mine on three occasions this weekend and had the best time, but on Saturday afternoon I found myself flipping through old yearbooks and feeling a little bit sad. Part of it is because almost a decade has passed since I graduated and it doesn't even feel a little bit like that length of time, and the other part is that I don't feel at all like the person I used to be and I wonder if I'm the only one.

Lena Dunham said she missed her high school reunion because, first of all, she was at a diner enjoying some delicious rice pudding when she should have been on her way over, but also because she wanted to avoid past incarnations of herself. "Everyone's nice!" she said about her classmates, but she still didn't make it to see them after ten years. I'm actually looking forward to our ten year reunion, but I kind of identify with what she's saying.

High School Megan was a bit of a goodie goodie and thought nothing looked cuter than a polo shirt with the collar popped. She had little to no anxiety, but she lacked a lot of experiences. She drove a Volkswagen Jetta with a license plate that said MEG JET and put a lot of sugar in her coffee. I love her, but she kind of embarrasses me sometimes. Nostalgia usually feels so good on me, but when I reminisce on high school days I sometimes feel like I'm shrinking. 

College and grad school and Minneapolis all played huge roles in shaping me into the person that I am today, but high school laid that foundation and gave me some wonderful friends along the way; and I forget about that sometimes. E.E. Cummings said "It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are," and he was right, but I don't think you have to venture out and never look back.

I hope this weekend brought you exactly what you needed.

The first snow fell in Minneapolis this week and I missed it in a way that I had guessed I might, but wasn't really expecting. It came on the warmest day of the week so far in Charlotte--72 and sunny--and Rob and I sat outside on a patio eating burgers for lunch.

People (mostly Minnesotans) tell me that I'm being silly, or misremembering the winter, and I know that I was only there for one year and I still found myself missing my outdoor runs and feeling ambiguously sad on dark, frozen February afternoons. Yes, by the time March 20th rolled around and spring was nowhere to be found, I sometimes wondered what we were doing there, but the magic of winter in Minnesota was always there. Maybe it was because I came from Virginia, where the prediction of even a slight dusting of snow was enough to close down all schools and offices and wipe clean the bread and dairy isles in every grocery store as people battened down the hatches and rushed home to locate their flashlights.

Life goes on in Minnesota, regardless of the weather or if you came prepared, and that spoke to me in a deep way I never realized I needed it to. So whether or not it makes sense, I miss it. I miss the city and I miss my favorite coffee shop and breakfast spot and the places in Uptown we used to go for happy hour. I miss our Saturday afternoon lunch stop with the fireplace in St. Paul, and I realize that the majority of the things I loved in Minnesota, I loved more because it was so cold outside.

I miss the fireplaces in bars and drinking hot apple cider with caramel vodka, cuddled up watching trashy TV or holiday movies on my couch or a friend's. It may have one of the harshest climates ever, but Minneapolis took me in, made me feel at home, made me feel (and be) capable and self-sufficient, and for that it'll be my favorite city all year 'round.

Yesterday evening I dropped Rob off at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport to catch a flight to Charlotte because today is his first day on the job at his new project. On my quick drive home, I was sort of overwhelmed with a mix of pride and nostalgia.

I thought about how smart and successful that husband of mine is, and how proud I am of him every day. And then I thought about those first few months of long(er) distance, when we went from Roanoke to DC every weekend to Virginia to Minnesota once or twice a month. From being within driving distance to booking a flight and requesting a day off from work. There were restaurants and coffee shops we visited in parts of town that we didn't recognize, and then I moved and less than a year later they became places in our favorite neighborhoods, where the bartender wonders where we've been if we skip a Saturday lunch one week. There are still so many new things to discover here, but we have managed to find a place to belong. 

We have come a long way since that weekend in January of last year when Rob went to Minneapolis to look at apartments. And yet last night, alone in our home, I started to feel a little sad. I am determined to make the most over these days that I have to myself--going to bed early, spending time with friends, and watching as much Gossip Girl as humanly possible. Transitions often throw me for a loop, but this one is so exciting, and I don't want to wish it away yet, even if I have to muddle through some melancholy to get there.

A new city, new friends (and old friends!), a new apartment, new adventures. I am so excited to get to Charlotte, but I will forever be thankful that we took a chance on Minneapolis.

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;


Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that, the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,


And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.


I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

— Robert Frost