I drive through streets that bring up happy memories of old friends I haven’t spoken to in more than a year. It feels so different now. At the time, these people were everything to me. I sit outside in my beautiful backyard remembering the 12 summers before. I have sat in this same chair throughout various stages of my life, yet this time, my contemplation is different than any other year. I find myself realizing this summer will be the last one. I hear my parents echoing through the house as they discuss looking at property down South, excitedly scheming their next adventure, their next home. It strikes me as I hear them that it will be their next home, not mine. Their next adventure is on their own. My next adventure is on my own. It hasn’t hit me until now, my last few weeks in my childhood home before I head off to my senior year at college, that this is it.

It’s the way life goes. You part from your childhood friends, you grow up, your parents move on, you move on and realize what you want in the world. Of course, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m thrilled that my parents are acting on their dreams to move down South. I’m excited for my future, and I’m ready to relish in it. However, it deserves more than a nod or a passing thought. It deserves a serious pause. To look back on the memories you’ve had in your living room, the backyard, the trail where I used to ride my bike to my friend’s house, my high school, my town – it’s not only important but necessary. The amount of times I cursed my town and the amount of times I cried from college begging for one day home. To accept that home is not a place, but a place can most definitely leave a mark on your heart. I often say looking back on the past isn’t living in the present, but to acknowledge how you feel in the present requires reflection. I thought of this upon returning from Costa Rica, and I’ve noticed the little things I love about home. My favorite couch in my living room that never failed to comfort me after a long day. The faint scratches on my kitchen floor from my beautiful dog Mulligan when he was a puppy reminds me of his lighthearted nature. The Lazy Susan on my kitchen table. The giant, disproportional tree in my backyard we always joked was “the Tree of Life.” The red front door. My brother only being a phone call and 20 minutes away. Spending time with my dad outside on the porch when he’s grilling dinner and he pauses from conversation to look out and share how much he loves our backyard. Conversation about life and relationships with my mom in the morning with a cup of coffee in hand. The endless memories on every square foot of the place. The list could go on forever.

So, here I am. The last few weeks living in my childhood home. I continue to hear my parents plan their next stage of life, and I beam with pride. They say it could be years until they finally find the home of the dreams, but whether it’s five years from now or tomorrow, I’ve come to accept there will be a sting when we say goodbye to this home– not just for me, for all of us. I know when I come back, it will just be a visit. Home is a feeling, and I’ve certainly found that feeling in these walls throughout these years. I know I always have a home, a safe haven wherever my family is, but now it’s really time to start my own adventure, to begin the transition from a college student to an adult. It’s scary and it’s exciting. The gratitude I have for this beautiful home and this place I grew up is immense. For now, I’m living for every moment. I suggest you do the same, wherever you may be.