Kayla Wikaryasz

The great white shark species must keep swimming or else it suffocates. Likewise, tuna need to continuously swim to get enough oxygen. While some people might find the fate of constantly moving as repulsive, I find it freeing. If given the choice, I’d choose the life of a tuna over anything else.

Growing up my father always told us that the Wikaryasz ancestors were gypsies of sorts, from Poland. Never content living in one place for too long. Constantly on the move in the search of a better, more advantageous home.

I don’t know how true this narrative is, but it is a good story nonetheless.

I like to imagine myself as one of these ancestors – trudging through snow behind a caravan of my neighbors, cousins, and siblings – on my way to a new home, miles away. I picture myself stopping, wading into a pile of snow, frozen rain whipping around my body, and taking a minute to look back to where we came.

“A Russian army has destroyed our village and the pogroms have taken the lives of our Jewish neighbors,” I say.

At this moment, I am sad. Reflective, maybe. But I’m hopeful: new land means new opportunities.

My mother’s side, the Chippewa ancestors, were natural travelers, and could be categorized as “semi-nomadic.” This meant that they moved around established Ojibwe/Chippewa lands in the Great Lakes regions for the seasons.

As one of those ancestors, I imagine myself with a baby wrapped in a sling, held tight against my chest. I am in a canoe with a husband and a brother-in-law, perhaps. Winter is descending upon the Great Lakes and my family must move to find food.

Paddles swishing through the water cuts the silence of the morning. Members of the tribe in their respective canoes follow close behind, all headed to our second home.

My life, the one I’m conscious of, the past five years has felt “semi-nomadic” in many ways. It was exciting and adventurous, meeting new people, going to new places, but always either ending up in East Lansing for school or “back home” in Alpena.

Alpena and East Lansing have been like the north and south poles in my life, yoked in a magnetic pull, forcing me to oscillate between the two locations.

By the summer of 2024, a wearisome isolation plagued me while in East Lansing. The summer was dull, uneventful, and I started to despise how the concrete and asphalt made summer feel hotter and more unbearable.

Northern Michigan felt like a respite when I visited for summer holidays and I finally understood why “downstate people” flock to Alpena for vacation – it is comfortable and uncomplicated.

I moved home the following March and I’ve lived with my parents and brother ever since.

At first, it was nice to have my mother cooking meals for me again and helping me with laundry. My mother is down the hall now when I need advice or need to complain to someone about how stupid guys are.

My roommates back in East Lansing are lovely, but they all live separate lives. In Alpena, I have a family that lives their lives overlapping my own. They are invested in how my life unfolds.

Living at home has many benefits, financially and socially. However there have been some growing pains.

I can no longer invite friends over spontaneously for a “wine night.” I have .0005% privacy and have to share a bathroom with my brother. I cannot get angry, or frustrated, or merely sit in silence.

The unexpected benefit of living with Gen Z roommates was that they weren’t severely interested in your life. Your bedroom was your little world and you occasionally crossed paths in the kitchen late at night. Hard boundaries were instituted and were quietly respected.

The unspoken rule though, was, if everyone had a free night … the living room turned into a meeting spot for various groups of friends.

The more time I spend living at home, the more I want to move away. Not far, but not here (in my bedroom where I’m writing this column). Home will always be “home.” I can’t imagine a time in my life when I will call anything but my parents’ home “my home,” but I see the horizon collapsing in on itself as the days pass. My room gets smaller, the sky gets duller, and the days bleed into one another.

I miss having my “dwelling” exist as a constant rotation of people, noises, smells, and experiences. I miss secretly inviting a bunch of friends over while my roommate is away and getting drunk and letting everyone pass out where they wish. I miss packing everyone up in my Jeep and driving across town to iHop where we sit nauseous staring at pancakes and sausages. I miss the non-committal years of my life when once I moved into one apartment I’d already start looking for another for the next year.

Perhaps it’s time for me to start looking for a new “dwelling” so I can once again embody my “semi-nomadic” personality. It’d be nice to have roommates my own age again. Eventually, I’ll settle down and build a white picket fence and have 2.5 kids – but I’m still in my twenties.

There’s plenty of time left to explore a little more.