At long last, A has shipped back to Boston to start his second semester of college. I dropped off quite a different young man than I did in August, one that was actively looking forward to rejoining his friends, eager to start classes and a schedule that worked better with the rhythms that he has figured out work best for him.

As we hauled his gear back to his dorm room, assisted by his roommates, there were shouts of greetings among other returning students, and plans made for getting together for a variety of activities. It’s amazing how quickly a person can adapt to a whole new environment and make it seem like it’s always been a part of them.

Since A doesn’t know how to pack lightly, the least I could do for his friends was treat them to dinner, and it’s also a chance to get them all out into Boston to check out new places. There was an Irish pub they’d been wanting to go to for its live music every night of the week, but as minors, couldn’t get in without an adult. I was happy to oblige. As we were walking to the venue, I pointed out some “historic to me” places that I’d frequented or had a story about from my own days in Boston. One of the roommates insightfully asked me what I missed most about being in Boston.

I thought I was simply being nostalgic, but apparently a little bit of wistfulness came through, too. For a few years after I graduated, I made monthly trips back to visit friends. Gradually that became one or two visits a year, and then finally ceased almost entirely. When Steve and I started dating, he took me to New York where he hunted for snowshoes and turkeys, and New Jersey where he hunted for deer, and I took him to Boston. Since a trip to Boston as a 6-year-old, the city, and most of New England, is just a place that makes me happy when I’m there. I guess that was pretty obvious to A and his roommate.

Over the years, I’ve thought a lot about my decision to return to the area where I grew up, where my family has lived for almost a century now. I’ve thought a lot about the decision to raise my family in the very house where I grew up. At the time I made all those decisions, it seemed like the right thing to do. Although I loved the Boston area, it just wasn’t a place where I saw myself spending the rest of my life. I’d found a new community there, through swim coaching, connected with many families and kids that most college kids probably wouldn’t have, but it wasn’t the same as my old community, where everyone knew my parents, as well as me.

I’m not sure what answer A’s roommate expected, but I found myself choking up a little bit before I could answer it. It wasn’t so much a place or a thing, it was the feeling that I had when I was there, and the feeling that I get even when I just spend the weekend there dropping A back at school. It’s the feeling of being accepted. I’m sure people would tack words like “liberal” and “woke” onto the population “up there,” but there is just a more open-minded atmosphere than the one that I live with constantly.

A’s roommates are all from very different backgrounds, even different countries. A has relayed many of their conversations to me, and they frequently disagree with each other on just about everything. But watching them all greet each other, help each other settle back into their dorm, and then sit around the dinner table gently teasing each other or making plans to help each other with studying, and talk about all the different groups they wanted to join, that is the feeling that I miss.

Just this week, one of the groups that I spend a lot of time working with had a major upset because someone who is only tangentially associated with the group didn’t like the way someone did something. They turned around and complained about it to a higher power. The complaint was unjustified, but it caused a lot of headaches for people, including me, and at the end of the day, the program stands to lose a valuable, knowledgeable volunteer because they “don’t have time for this nonsense.”

And, after hearing a boatload of petty grievances and spending a few hours on the phone trying to smooth things over, I’m asking myself if I really want to spend my time on the nonsense either. This community that I’ve been a part of for so long is driving out the old-timers, but the newcomers aren’t as interested in preserving the community that has already stood the test of time. Over the 40 years I’ve been involved with it, we’ve adapted and changed many times as the situation called for it. I can be done, if people want to.

At one of our family’s regular vacation spots, there was a famous walkway along the shore. We would get up early every morning to walk this stretch of coastline, and we noticed that early in the morning, the locals walked the trail. Everyone greeted everyone with a cheerful good morning. Later in the day, when the trail was overrun with tourists, no one said hello to anyone. Getting up early every morning on vacation wasn’t always fun, but being included in the “local’ population made us feel kind of special.

That sense of community and belonging is what I miss. It’s hard to imagine that I don’t feel that way in the place where I’ve lived almost all my life. I’ve heard people describe our community as a place where people would give you the shirt off their backs if you needed it. I don’t disagree with that description, but sometimes, you don’t need or want someone else’s shirt. Sometimes, you want them to notice your shirt, which might be a little different from the typical or the local shirt, and say, “Hey, that’s a nice shirt you’re wearing. I’m glad you’re wearing it.”

Liz Pinkey’s column appears on Saturdays in the Times News