The Emotional Stages of Leaving Lubbock for One Weekend

It all begins with excitement. Real, genuine excitement. You're getting the heck out of town for the weekend, and suddenly, you're a new person. You make a sweet playlist, pack actual outfits, and tell everyone, "Yeah, we're headed out of town," like you're starring in a coming-of-age movie instead of just driving to Dallas to visit Aunt Edna.

Then comes the arrival high. Everything feels busier, louder, and more important. And, there are new options. Restaurants with wait times. People walking with a purpose. For a brief moment, you feel superior, like you've escaped the hamster cage and left the others behind. You start taking photos of your food and saying things like, "Wow, this place has great architecture. I wonder what year it was built?" as if your time in Lubbock was nothing but personally offensive.

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By day two, the overstimulation begins to set in. Traffic exists. Parking is a total nightmare. There are far too many choices, and for some reason, none of them feel right. You start to miss eating Ramen on the couch with your cats. You mutter under your breath, "Why is everyone in such a hurry?" while standing directly in their way.

Then, all at once, the unexpected homesickness. You begin craving silence, wide roads, your bed, and your favorite DoorDash food. You'd kill for a quick run to United for chips and queso, or a stress-free drive across town. You slowly begin to realize that you don't hate Lubbock at all. Far from it. You're ready to go the heck home.

Finally, you get back to the 806, the horizon opens up, the noise fades, your shoulders physically drop, and you heave a massive sigh of relief. You made it. You survived the outside world, and now you're back to tell us all about it.

Come Monday morning, you're already saying it again:

"Man, we really just try to get out of town soon."

Rinse. Repeat.

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