In North America, there are some 400 bird species that migrate, following distinct patterns as the seasons change, creating a traceable path of leaving and returning. 

This year, at the beginning of June, in a flock of 89, my senior class, like migratory birds, will slowly splinter off in the journey to college or whatever lays beyond.

When presented with the idea of graduation, I’ve always just sort of paled. It isn’t because I’m not excited for college or because I can’t face the idea of leaving; rather, graduation scares me because of this weird, ephemeral concept of home. Of course, it’s my parents, my dog, my house, my friends, and the city I’ve lived in since I was born that all forge this idea of home, but somewhere beyond that, I just feel this cosmic adoration for the idea of home. 

Home is safe, protected, all-knowing. At home, not in my house but at home, I can rely on roots already planted, holding me tightly even if the ground is unstable or soft. 

On top of that, I’ve just always been nostalgic, clinging to souvenirs from various points of my childhood. Home fosters that nostalgia, protecting my sentimentality with warm hands. But leaving home will surely mean leaving behind many of my souvenirs — the ones that remind me of how I became me — in favor of starting a fresh collection.

For most of senior year, sprinkled in with the fun seniority moments and special perks, I felt the presence of a dull ache, a reminder that soon, there would be this absence of home, this need for newness, and a loss of the things I’ve always held close. 

In attempts to quiet this ache, I turned to migratory birds. Migratory birds, like osprey, loons, or geese, travel across the vast North American continent. Depending on the time of year and what they need, whether it be more food, better climates, or space to breed, the birds embark on an expansive journey. 

In my own attempt for what I think I need, the school I want and the climate I like, I will begin my very own journey up the North American coast later this year. I will soon begin my flight path in order to find a new place to provide for myself.

But like clockwork, birds like these osprey, loons, and geese will return back to where they began, realizing they need not only the things they have travelled for, but when the time comes, they will also need things left behind. 

Migratory birds will always return, flocking back and forth between two places that they deem home. 

Some birds even possess a quality called site fidelity. On either side of the migration, these birds may return to the exact same location. It is not just the same region; they may return to the exact same tree or the same perch, claiming the same home over and over. 

So, I imagine myself as a migratory bird. Even when beginning a new journey, finding a new place to become home, there will always be a time, like clockwork, when I return the way I came. I will return to roots, nostalgia, and my collection of souvenirs, but somewhere, up the coast of North America, I will have begun a new collection, laid down new roots, and created a new site to become faithful to. 

As it gets closer, graduation still feels ominous at times. Change, no matter how exciting, will always be scary. I will still have to leave something already built and try to start something new. Yet, I know, like migratory birds, it is natural. There is something I need in this new place; it is part of my nature to need to go there. But my migration path will fly me home one day too. 

Graduating and leaving does not need to cause a permanent severance. Rather, it is just my first flight away during my life as a migratory bird. Home will always be waiting, just as something new will always await me.