The Love/Hate Tug-of-War with My Hometown

There’s a funny irony in growing up in a postcard-perfect town like Kennebunkport, Maine: the rest of the world sees it as a dreamy getaway destination, while you see it as, well, that place where you accidentally spilled grape juice on the communion table at eight and still get side-eyed by Mrs. Carlson. To the vacationers who descend in droves every summer, my hometown is lobster rolls, lighthouses, and sunsets that practically beg to be Instagrammed. To me, it’s a complicated quilt of childhood nostalgia, awkward adolescence, and small-town quirks that sometimes felt like they’d sink me like a leaky skiff.

But here’s the thing: love and hate don’t always exist separately. More often than not, they’re tangled up like a stack of salty-scented lobster traps. Growing up here taught me about weathering storms—literal nor’easters and figurative ones—and it shaped my worldview in ways I’m still discovering. So let’s wade into those complicated waters together, shall we?

The “Love” Side of the Ledger

I wouldn’t be who I am today without the deep imprint of this place. Kennebunkport is, quite simply, breathtaking—its windswept shores and briny air have a way of etching themselves into your soul. But it’s not just the scenery that stays with you; it’s the rhythm of life here, like the ebb and flow of the tide.

  1. Rooted in History, Salted by Stories
    While other kids were watching sitcoms after school, I was listening to my grandparents spin stories about tea smugglers stashing barrels in hidden coves. Picture the town as a living diorama: every white clapboard house with its tidy shutters holds its share of lore. Growing up in a historic sea captain’s house wasn’t just “quaint”; it was a portal to another time. I’d sit cross-legged in front of the parlor’s roaring fireplace, imagining women in hoop skirts gazing out at the Atlantic, waiting for sailboats to reappear on the horizon.

This kind of upbringing messes with your idea of romance. By the time I hit high school, I wasn’t daydreaming about prom dates—I was wondering if I’d ever find someone equally fascinated by 19th-century ship manifests (spoiler alert: still looking).

  1. Nature, as Date Planner
    Living here meant the outdoors was basically your third parent. Gone were the sprawling malls of suburbia—if we wanted entertainment, we sought it in the wild places. First kisses happened on moonlit sand dunes, and big breakups were hashed out on rocky outcrops with waves crashing furiously below (10/10 for dramatic effect). Even now, I measure every potential partner against that image: could we weather life’s storms together like the waves and granite do?

But Then, the “Hate” Side

For all its picture-perfect charm, growing up in a small town can feel like being under a magnifying glass. Everyone knows everyone—and everyone knows everything. Well, almost everything.

  1. The Myth of the Perfect Hallmark Town
    If you think living in Kennebunkport sounds like a Hallmark movie, let me gently nudge you back to reality. Sure, we’ve got cozy lobster shacks and snow-dusted clapboard churches, but no one tells you about the gossip machine that never sleeps. A teen who kisses someone new at a bonfire is guaranteed to have the whole town discussing their “summer fling” by brunch the next morning.

And let’s talk about dating. Ever try flirting with someone while their uncle (your neighbor) loiters two tables down? How about navigating a first date when you’re 90% sure they ghosted your best friend three years ago? Kennebunkport may have centuries of history, but trust me, it’s got a short memory for secrets.

  1. Dreams Bigger than a Lobster Roll
    Loving where you’re from doesn’t always mean staying there. As much as I cherish the salt-stained shingles of my childhood, there was always this ache to see more, do more, be more. I had big literary ambitions (and was maybe a little too enchanted by BBC miniseries) and dreamed of a life beyond the sandy-misted breath of coastal Maine. Sometimes, leaving felt like betrayal. Other times, not leaving felt like stagnation.

There’s a bittersweet truth you don’t realize until adulthood: your hometown is the blueprint for home—but eventually, you’ve got to build from that template and make your own.

Lessons from Lobster Traps and Small-Town Life

So how does growing up in a place you both love and resent shape you? I think of it like Kennebunkport's lobster traps: intricate, handwoven, and designed to be unyielding in the crashing surf. Here’s what I’ve learned about navigating life, love, and the spaces in between:

  • Anchor Yourself in Authenticity
    Small towns have a way of sniffing out anything pretentious. When you grow up in a community where everyone knows your family’s “great clam chowder fail of ‘03,” you learn to lean into your real self. That’s a lesson I carry to relationships: show up real, scars and all. It’s better to be loved for who you truly are than for a version of yourself you’re straining to maintain.

  • Know When to Untangle Yourself
    Sometimes, to grow, you’ve got to cut the rope. I think about my younger self, desperate to explore the world beyond these rocky shores, and I’m proud that I untied myself and took that leap. But here’s what no one tells you: leaving doesn’t mean abandoning. I come back now as someone who chose this place, not someone trapped by it—and that makes all the difference.

  • Find Joy in the Quirky Details
    There’s humor in the things that used to make me roll my eyes. The fact that my high school friends and I had to drive two towns over to find a Domino’s pizza delivery? Comedy gold. The way locals talk about summer tourists stealing “their parking spots”? Equal parts irritating and hilarious. You build relationships the same way: by finding someone who’ll laugh about the little things with you, instead of obsessing over them.

Coming Full Circle

“Home” is such a loaded word. For some, it’s a comforting anchor; for others, a set of weights to escape. For me, Kennebunkport is both—a place I couldn’t wait to leave, but also a place I can’t quite let go of. It’s where I fell in love with the sound of the sea and the syncopation of a harbor town but also grew restless with its confines. And isn’t that just life? A constant push-and-pull between love and longing, discovery and return.

Where you come from doesn’t define you, but it does give you a compass. Mine points to the rocky coastline, to a home I’ll always love, even when it drives me a little nuts. So I’ll leave you with this thought: whether you stay in your hometown forever or roam far beyond its borders, remember that you can hold a place in your heart even as you create space for your wildest dreams.

Because, at the end of the day, no matter where life takes you, you can still always come home again—to lobster rolls, gossip, and the intoxicating salt breeze of a life well lived.