I’ve written about some of the places I’ve moved to, but I haven’t really written about the place I moved from. The place where I grew up.
I was born in the City of Worcester, England, in a hospital that’s long since been demolished. I lived all around the city growing up, in 10 different homes across just as many neighborhoods.
It’s called the “City” of Worcester, but it feels much more like a town. In England, there’s such a thing as a Cathedral City, and Worcester is one of them (that is, you were a city so long as you had a cathedral). That cathedral played a curiously big role in my life.
The town is exactly what you might expect when you think of England. Cobbled streets, Victorian buildings, surrounded by rolling hills and farmland. It’s got a rich history of royalty, battle and trade. You can almost hear the stories that it holds as you walk the old streets.
In all, it was a wonderful place to grow up. It’s full of artists and craftspeople and—most importantly—kind people. I remember the people from my town as creative, gentle and down to earth.
I live in California now, and when people ask where I’m from and I’m invariably faced with a blank stare, I say “it’s where the sauce comes from—Worcestershire Sauce.” If I’ve got the right audience, I might add “the place that Donkey can’t pronounce in Shrek Forever After.”
After leaving my hometown, I was contractually obligated to hate it just a little bit (as you might be of your hometown, and anyone else of theirs). With some distance and time though, I can view it through a more neutral lens. To me, now, I remember it with some fondness.
I learned to ride my bike in Gheluvelt Park and would spend summers splashing around in the pool there. I made fierce friends after my initial shyness, several of whom I’m still connected with and love today. I climbed the nearby Malvern Hills over and over, frequented the cathedral for non-religious reasons, and walked beside or boated along the River Severn more times than I can count.
Worcester is where I had my first romances and break-ups. It’s where I learned all of my early lessons. It’s where I learned to be brave and resilient, and where I failed to be either of those things so many times. Some of the lessons I cling to today, others I try hard to unlearn.
I could write forever about my hometown, simply because I experienced so much of my life there. I’m sure that I will write more about it someday, but for now I simply wanted Worcester to have a small post alongside London and Brooklyn. I wanted to start writing something that I’ll likely never stop writing. To revisit just a few memories.
I’ll end though, for now, by saying that I’m glad I grew up in that place. I’m glad that I was surrounded by art and by artists. I’m glad that I was surrounded by history and artifacts. I’m glad to have experienced beauty and slowness and kindness so frequently.
I might have left, and I’m almost certain to never permanently return, but I’m glad that it’s where this funny little life started.