On Aug. 15, 2015, when I left the (too) small town of Burnt Hills, New York to embark on my college journey, I was ready. I mean, ready for the most part. Yeah, I choked back a tear or two on I-90 as I got further and further away from my dog and friends, but that was nothing four shots of espresso over ice couldn't cure. I wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of not living with my parents for the first time ever, but I knew that I would be OK, and that they’d still be only a phone call away.

However, on that day, looking back, maybe I should have been choking back more tears—sobs. Because here’s what no one tells you about going away to college:

When you leave to go away to school, you sacrifice your entire perception of the word “Home.”

When I got to RIT, I settled in and made the four best friends a girl could ask for (a grand exception to the “first-week friends are inevitably disposable” belief). With my new little family, I experienced a ton of new places, foods and met dozens of amazing people. I began to accept all of the new things I was experiencing as norms and sank back into the comfortable new life that presented itself to me here in Rochester.

Now don't get me wrong, that’s wonderful because my transition to college was seamless.

But then I went home for Christmas. And I missed my lofted bed. And my friends. And the coffee shop 10 steps outside my res hall door. I missed the dining hall, the farmers market downtown and the campus gym. I missed the sound of my floor mates laughing in the room across the hall as I fell asleep, the frantic sound of my roommate whisper-screaming profanities as she woke up late for class and hearing her stumble in at 2 a.m. after a long night of homework. I missed meals being social time, and I missed feeling like the sole director of my life.

And that’s when I asked my parents if I could go “home” early. “Home,” as in RIT.

This not only made my mom cry but also startled me. I was at home, asking to go home...what?

That’s when I started thinking about where “home” really was. No one tells you that when you go to school that you are going to gain a sense of home, and simultaneously fall out of touch with one. No one tells you that this happening will make you feel like you don’t really have a finite place that you will always belong.

Recently, I thought I was severely homesick, as I had been feeling generally down after a couple of not-so-great weeks. So I called my mom and dad and asked them to come visit. Having them here was great because I always miss them like crazy, and I secretly cry a little bit when our weekly FaceTimes or phone calls get cut short. However, I thought their visit would remind me that home is Burnt Hills and when it didn’t, I was massively confused and upset.

So I got to thinking: “Home” is wherever you’re happy in the moment. It sounds corny, because it is corny, but it’s true. “Home” can be where you grew up, cuddling with your dog on the couch watching Lifetime movies or it can be driving up 590N belting “Blue” by Marina and the Diamonds with your best friend. “Home” can change from week to week and minute to minute. “Home” is where you find your happy. “Home” is where you feel like yourself.

The thing no one tells you about going to college is that “home” becomes a lot bigger than one thing or place. “Home” is what you make it, and “home” can be completely abstract, even when you want it, or need it, to be concrete.

Luckily, I’ve found plenty of “home” right where I am, especially by getting back on track with things I’ve always felt happy doing: theater, writing and religiously watching crime dramas. It’s important to stay in tune with who you are, even when moving on to a new chapter in life. It’s with no measurable amount of gratitude occurred to me that “home” is an always evolving idea.