I recently visited my hometown of Savannah, Georgia, for the first time in seven months. When I went home, I was surprised by how much everything had changed in the short period I was gone.
On my first day back, I drove to my favorite coffee shop, Gallery Espresso. I would frequent this coffee shop almost every day in high school if I had a break between my classes. All across the shop’s walls were paintings by local artists and the chairs were large cozy sofas, making it the perfect comforting environment.
The drive into downtown Savannah is about 15 minutes of complete serenity and a picturesque coastal view. There are acres of green marshes and rivers being drawn out to the ocean after high tide. I used to look around in awe of how beautiful it looked while I drove. I was delighted to see a great blue heron standing tall on the side of the road.
Around halfway into my drive, I drove over a bridge that separates the islands where I live to the center of Historic Downtown Savannah. Throughout high school, I would cross the bridge and see trees on one side of the road and the Savannah River on the other.
Instead of the natural landscape I grew up seeing, there were large developments on either side of the road that replaced plots of trees and greenland. Most of the new buildings were modern apartment complexes, built in five months and made of thin sheet metal with chain coffee shops in the lobby.
Throughout my life, I’ve always imagined Savannah as a small town with southern, local charm. Now, I was met with industrial parks full of conglomerate modernity while entering the most beautiful part of the city. I always found sanctity in the deep-rooted ways of my hometown, but the rapid changes I was seeing made me nauseous.
As I entered the historical downtown, I saw the red brick, ivy and Spanish moss that I had grown up with. I even drove past my high school, a 170-year-old building attached to an even older Cathedral, which looked the same. I was comforted by seeing such familiar sights.
However, once I parked and walked around the streets, I noticed that many of the shops and restaurants I used to visit were no longer there. They had been replaced by chain stores, some of which were located in 200-year-old buildings but sold trendy items like neon clothes or furniture. It was all unfamiliar to me.
I came home to visit all these familiar locations, needing a sense of reliability and small-town pride. I was not met with comfort or hometown glory during my first few hours home, but instead felt I was on the outside looking in. Savannah becoming a larger, modernized city was unimaginable, and I hated that my all-familiar local charm was fading.
When I finally arrived at Gallery Espresso, I was relieved to find it had remained the same. The familiar beat-up sofas and wooden tables were still there, just as I remembered them from studying for exams and sharing coffee with friends.
So, in a stride of peace, I went up to the barista and placed my order of an iced coffee and a chicken salad sandwich. However, when I placed my order I was met with an unpleasant barista who snickered with judgment when I asked if the chicken salad had nuts in it.
The typical chicken salad in most Southern restaurants is served with walnuts, grapes and celery. This is the region’s take on the Waldorf salad, which I’ve always hated as someone with a nut allergy.
The barista’s reaction may have sounded like an inconsequential detail to most, but it meant everything to me. People in the South are prized for their gentile behavior and Southern charm. Yet the judgment I faced ordering the sandwich made me realize Southern charm is no longer a commonality.
My heart was in my stomach and I felt out of place in a coffee shop I grew up visiting almost daily. It felt as though all the things I knew to be true were no longer familiar and that everything had changed while I was gone.
So, I got the chicken salad sandwich and my coffee and sat at the table I always claimed in high school. I ate the walnut-free sandwich, feeling inconsequential in my hometown like I was left behind.
The more I thought about the situation, I realized I do not recognize my hometown, I am now one of the thousands of tourists who come to see the beautiful sites of Savannah. I ruminated over this thought and was left with a large pit-like feeling in my stomach.
My only thought left was a desire to go back to Philadelphia — the home I have formed through my pursuit of higher education. Philadelphia gave me lifelong friendships, a career path and a new perspective on what I can achieve.
Although I have only lived in Philadelphia for four years, it feels more like a home than Savannah ever did. I experienced delayed growing pains when visiting my hometown, but they opened my eyes to appreciate what I have in Philadelphia.
I finished my sandwich and coffee, walked through the cobblestone squares under the large oak trees and recognized I have grown out of my city and it has outgrown me.
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