Perhaps this realization is the coming-of-age I have been looking for.

The other day I was sitting in my living room with my father. The atmosphere was casual, so I asked him, "Do you expect me to come home next summer [after my first year at Evergreen]?" Thinking I knew his exact answer, I settled again with my back pressed deep into the loveseat and stared at him across the room.

He set down the paper he had been staring at and cast his glance at me. "Rachel, much as you are always welcome here, I dont expect you to ever come home."

...

It is a weird feeling. I can leave and never come home. To visit, yes. To live? Probably not. I had always assumed Id come back in the summers, but now I consider other things.