In the end, though, the "unfamiliar" ended up being the city where I'd grown up, a 5-hour drive across the Pennsylvania Turnpike. I had left the Pittsburgh suburb where I'd grown up as fast as I could (albeit not especially far, I was a mere 2 hours away in State College, followed by a move to Philadelphia once I graduated), and could always be counted on to be the first one to make a derisive comment about the city where I'd grown up. I left and didn't look back. Until I was looking forward, and forward was Pittsburgh.
It was strange to return, though, because the city I'd known as a teenager was gone, and in its place was a younger, rapidly expanding little metropolis with a more progressive demographic than the retired steelworkers and Donnie Iris fans that I remembered (they're still here, and the city continues to take an immeasurable amount of pride in both). There were things to do, places to visit, activities to take part in, and almost none of it had to do with Iron City Beer.
We had been back to Pittsburgh once before our move, for a wedding in 2009. At the time, I remember talking with a friend about how much the city seemed to have changed, how there seemed to be so much more to do, so many more options than the way I'd remembered it from when we were graduating high school and itching to get the hell out. She agreed and said she could see herself moving back and raising a family here, and I remember laughing and saying, "No way, not me." If it had been a movie about 2 friends walking around Pittsburgh, this would be the moment of huge foreshadowing. Also, that would be an incredibly boring movie.
Our move to Pittsburgh was also strange, because neither my parents or friends lived here anymore. My mom and dad had relocated to Savannah, Georgia years before, my sister was God only knows where (more on that later), and most of my friends had gone on to bigger and better things in cities across the country. I knew exactly one person coming back, and it was a weird feeling to be in an area that felt so geographically familiar and yet I knew almost no one.
We moved into an apartment on the Northside while we looked for houses, and during this time I felt myself feeling a growing fondness and respect for the city I'd once left in such a hurry. I was, and still am, completely enamored of the architecture. Not just the buildings downtown, but the residential architecture. Driving through the neighborhoods, I feel like I'm constantly discovering new little pockets of city streets with beautiful old houses full of character and charm. The tech industry had moved into the places where the old steel mills had been, and real estate values were sky rocketing (for Pittsburgh, that is. It's still considered the most affordable place to live in the country).
We bought a house in the city, a 1920s Center Hall Colonial on a great street, and we have had an amazing three years in it. We have the world's best neighbors, and we have made some awesome friends. We've gotten involved in various community projects and initiatives, and have met and befriended people we never would have if we'd stayed in our little suburban enclave north of Philadelphia. We made Pittsburgh home, and I feel like I've made my peace with the place I had once viewed with such disdain.
But this move was always supposed to be a temporary one; 2-3 years out in the field and then back east. And as much as I've fallen in love with our life out here, the people we've met, the places around us, I still feel like I'm ready to go back. There is not a part of me that wishes to stay here permanently, even though we've had such a wonderful time with so many wonderful people. And it looks like our time here is coming to an end; there's a light at the end of this tunnel that suggests we'll only be here another 6 months, tops. But unlike the last time I left, this time I know we'll be back, often, because Pittsburgh will always be a part of us, and I like that.
