There’s something about small towns that creates familiarity—even when lives don’t overlap in the way you might expect.

Aimee Goeman and I didn’t grow up as friends. There were simply too many years between us. I was college-age as she was just entering school. But in a town that small, it wouldn’t have mattered—if we’d been there at the same time, we absolutely would have known each other well. When your graduating class hovers around fifty kids, everyone is in everyone else’s orbit.

I knew of Aimee the way you do in rural communities. Everybody knows everybody. Our families knew each other, and church added another layer of familiarity in a place where nothing—and no one—was anonymous. We didn’t share a childhood, but we shared context.

Years later, we finally sat down to really talk—and what struck me wasn’t some grand full-circle moment. It was how easy the conversation felt. Fun. Natural. Like two women who hadn’t walked the same path, but somehow spoke a similar language.

I don’t live in Belmond, and I have no intention of moving back. Aimee’s life has brought her back there seasonally to be close to family. Our connections to that place look different—but the conversation reminded me of something simple and true: you don’t have to return to where you’re from for it to still be part of you. Some places shape you quietly, then stay in the background as life carries you forward.

A Big Career—and Room for More

Aimee has built a successful corporate career in advertising and digital media—one that’s fast-paced, complex, and constantly evolving. She works with major brands, influencers, and campaigns that require strategy, adaptability, and a willingness to keep up with constant change.

What I appreciated most is that she hasn’t framed her life as an either/or.

She didn’t walk away from her career.
She didn’t decide ambition had to disappear.
She didn’t assume wanting something more meant something was wrong.

Instead, she’s built a life that holds multiple things at once.

She continues her corporate work while also creating space for passion projects, creativity, and meaningful involvement in the community—including opening a boutique in her hometown and rolling up her sleeves for local initiatives that matter to her.

That balance feels especially relevant in midlife, when many women start asking quieter, more honest questions:

• What do I want to keep?

• What do I want to add?

• What doesn’t need to prove anything anymore?

What “Coming Home” Really Means

One of the most important themes in our conversation was this: coming home doesn’t have a single definition.

For Aimee, that looks like spending part of the year back in Belmond, close to family and deeply involved in the community. For me, it looks different. I visit occasionally. Life has taken me elsewhere.

And both are valid.

Home isn’t always a place you move back to.
Sometimes it’s a set of values.
Sometimes it’s a shared history.
Sometimes it’s a reminder of who you were before life layered on responsibilities, expectations, and noise.

You don’t have to live where you’re from for it to still matter.

Community, Connection, and This Season of Life

At this stage of life, community hits differently.

It’s less about networking and more about connection.
Less about visibility and more about contribution.
Less about impressing and more about belonging.

Aimee talked about how being involved locally—whether through business, volunteering, or simply showing up—creates a kind of impact that feels tangible. You can see it. Feel it. Be part of it.

And that resonated with me.

Because many women aren’t looking for a dramatic reinvention.
They’re looking for integration.
They want their experience to matter.
They want to feel connected—to people, to purpose, to something beyond the next to-do list.

You Don’t Have to Choose

If there’s one quiet takeaway from this conversation, it’s this:

You don’t have to choose between where you came from and the life you’ve built.

You can have a big career and still crave simplicity.
You can live elsewhere and still feel connected.
You can grow, evolve, and expand—without rewriting or romanticizing the past.

Some part of home stays with you.
Not as a destination—but as context.

And sometimes, that’s more than enough.