I’ll be blunt, I dreaded going home this summer.

Not because I’d be living at home, not because I wanted my freedom, but simply because I’d be living in a town of 2,626 people.

You see, I’ve become quite the city boy over the last two years in college. I like being a hop, skip and a jump from the nearest Target. I like being five minutes from Busch Stadium. I like having too many restaurants to choose from. I like being five minutes from a movie theater.

Over the last two years, I’ve been home for not more than a few weeks at a time-short enough that I never reached that moment of having nothing to do. It was always just enough time to see family and friends, and then I’d be on my way again.

I knew this summer would be different. I would be living in my little town again for more than three months. I’d spend my days, nights and weekends in that little town, and I was terrified.

But a good internship awaited me, and the idea of having no living expenses definitely appealed to me. thus on May 11, I went home.

I set up my computer, established my Internet connection and began planning my first road trip out of Greene County. And then Mom asked me to run to the store for some milk.

Entering the local grocery, which just happened to be two doors down my street, something happened that made me reconsider my entire concept of that little town. I saw my elementary music teacher. I visited with an old co-worker. I ran into my old boss. I got stopped here, got stopped there, visited with one, chatted with another. a simple trip to the store for milk became a walk down memory lane. I was actually quite annoyed at first. I just wanted a gallon of milk. But then it hit me-this was home.

I realized that I had become a city boy, and I didn’t like it. Everything was about speed, getting in and getting out as you rush from here to there beginning the cycle anew. In the city, you don’t take the time to smell the proverbial roses, to chat with old friends, to stop and slow down.

In the city, I never walk through The Galleria and ran into more than a handful of people I knew. In the city, I never run into Schnuck’s and spend 20 minutes just buying a gallon of milk. In the city, people I saw were not old friends but just more faces in the crowd.

And with these realizations, my little town meant so much more to me than ever before. At the local family restaurant, my waiter knows what I like to drink before I order. At the bank, I’m greeted by a friendly face rather than a hurried expression. At the library, I see the same librarian who helped me check out my first book. And as I park my car, my biggest concern is not the safety of my car stereo.

Don’t get me wrong, I still like the city. But I don’t want to be a city boy living in the city, rushing about. I want to be a small town kid living in the city, slowly making my mark on the world by never forgetting to stop and smell the roses, to chat with old friends, to stop and slow down.

Eric Winters is a junior studying

political science and political journalism.