Charissa Graves
From the Graves
I’ve been thinking about the concept of “home” a lot recently.
A couple of weeks ago, I had the pleasure of going back to California for a brief, and rather spontaneous visit. It wasn’t to my hometown, though; it was to my college campus, and with roughly 30 hours of train travel each way, I had a decent bit of time to think.
Before I moved here, I had promised a few friends that I would be there to photograph their milestones. These include two graduations (the recent trip) and one wedding (coming in October). I wasn’t about to let a little distance keep me from honoring those commitments, both because there are certain kinds of photography I don’t get to do much anymore and because I really, really love my friends.
Being back on campus was strange. There are a lot of memories there; some are good, but many are quite painful. Sometimes I think that we don’t realize how fresh certain wounds are until they’re reopened by surprise.
Growing up, I didn’t feel at home basically anywhere, even though I’ve lived in the same town with the same people for most of my life. Still, I didn’t get out much, and I always felt too different to connect with most of the people I was around consistently.
I had a few wonderful friends, but it wasn’t until the year that I left for school that I really started connecting with people in a way that made me feel like I belonged.
Still, it was “home” in the sense that it was where I came from and where, for a long time, I knew I’d be going back to.
Then, I moved onto campus for the first time. It was hectic, and for a while I had the same problem of being surrounded by people (more than ever, in fact), and yet still managing to feel completely alone.
Eventually, though, I managed to integrate. I lived with eight people in a five-bedroom house that contained one of the smallest amalgamations of a kitchen, dining room and living room I’d ever seen, so I suppose it was bound to happen at some point.
But, it wasn’t just that. I connected with people in classes, I joined clubs, and – most significantly – I joined the campus newspaper. Through the paper, and later magazine and yearbook (in addition to my natural curiosity), I began to explore Riverside.
I finally felt like I was living somewhere rather than just existing while life happened around me.
I moved back and forth between the town that raised me and the city where I “grew up” until I took my medical leave of absence in 2024. In those few years I experienced the good, the great, the bad and the awful in abundance.
It became clear to me and the people around me that I couldn’t go back to campus. My health was getting worse and I needed a support system; there was too much baggage, and simply, I felt like I had outgrown the “campus experience.”
So, I applied for jobs, throwing everything at the wall and hoping that just one thing would stick. There were plenty of applications submitted to places that would allow me to keep living at home, but there were also applications submitted just about everywhere else.
I’ve written about how I got here before, so I won’t belabor the cold-calling story, but there is one aspect that I think bears some elaboration.
When I got the call telling me that there was a job at a brand new paper in Hutchinson that seemed like a good fit for me, I wasn’t at my house; I was running errands with a friend who was just as excited as I was to hear the news.
And when I got hired over the phone, I was visiting another friend, the same one I saw earlier this month. She alternated between talking about how excited she was for me and asking if I needed to drive home earlier so I could pack.
For a while I would tell people that I could be content anywhere, especially if there was a good shop dedicated to yarn or books nearby, and while that’s probably accurate, it’s also not entirely true.
The truth is: home isn’t a place. I need good people, and I need beauty, both of which can be found anywhere.
It’s no secret that California is beautiful; it has some of the most famous cities, beaches, mountains, forests and deserts in the world (though I might be biased). It’s also a mess, but so is everywhere else.
The inside of the train I took to Riverside was not particularly beautiful, but it became so when I shared a terrible cup of instant coffee and conversation with a stranger at 8 p.m.
I knew that Kansas had good people before I moved here; I’m related to some of them, and I knew that it could be beautiful despite its apparent lack of topography.
I didn’t know how beautiful it could be to get a hug from someone you’ve only met once or twice at a protest, or to have people go out of their way to genuinely tell you that what you do matters and is appreciated.
If you’re reading this far, thank you for becoming home.
Charissa Graves is a reporter for The Hutchinson Tribune. She can be reached at: charissa@hutchtribune.com.