Home is something of a general constant for most people my age. Most young adults in America would use home to describe their house, the familiar structure occupied by others who have been there just as long. I lived in three states before I turned 18 and I’m not so sure if any of those houses felt like a home. Texas was where I was born and raised, my house in Plano has a door frame adorned with my growing height throughout the early years. The house we occupied in Ohio was where I really started being an individual, making friends in middle school, men whom I’d remain friends with into my adult years.
My Michigan house has been graced with my presence since the end of middle school. Some of my best times so far have been spent here, late nights with the crew in the barn would more often than not linger on into the twilight hours. My Michigan house is the one where I pack for college every year.
During my freshman year I often yearned to go home. To see old friends and places which I were unable to return to for what seemed like long stretches of time. Things change every time I make the drive home. The roads feel bumpier and more weathered under my tires. Business that have stood the test of time have fallen while other new establishments have taken root in such a way you’d swear they’ve been a pillar of the community for years. Likely, my house would change a little bit each time. The garage door was painted over with a sterile white, our powder room and kitchen experienced cosmetic renovations unbeknownst to me. Thankfully I found myself on nice new tile when I was absolutely floored by the changes.
I assume most freshman end up feeling the way I do now. My house does not feel like home. Very few hometown friends returned this summer and I found myself involved with a summer more boring and unproductive than the school year. I worked at a gas station sub shop and saved for sophomore year, bumbled around the area with friends and slept a whole lot. Truth be told a summer well spent.
I didn’t have friends in high school like I do in college. Aside from the friends that didn’t return and some college friends in the general area, I was limited to my longstanding hometown friend Tyler. Tyler and I kept in touch all through the school year with updates about our lives. School and work were the general themes of conversation. Once I returned for summer I was excited to reunite with an old friend. As the summer raged on we both came to a quiet realization. Nights spent hanging out were often spent quiet and bored, a common enjoyment of life’s downtime. We had run out of things to talk about. Our lives were running at two different tempos. It is common knowledge I do not wish to spend next summer at my house. Tyler and I know our lives are heading in two different directions and there’s no changing that. We are two people who have been friends since early high school and our friendship has now run its course. We’ve never really discussed it, I don’t think anything needs to be said. Our friendship fell victim to the riptides of life and there’s really no better way to have it. I control my own path, as does Tyler. We have come to a fork in the road and chosen different paths. Nobody ever grew from staying still.
We all know great movies with terrible sequels, Hollywood is ripe with them. Allow me to compare my life to the movies, as any reasonable person would. Stories end and new stories begin. My hometown friendship is a story coming to a close, and I’d much rather it end organically than release numerous forced sequels for the sake of not letting go. So often we wish to immortalize a feeling or a moment, cherishing it so fondly we want it to last forever. The universe, as always, has different plans. Time marches on and everything fades, queue up “Dust in the Wind”, it’s about that time.
It is my personal belief that life is inherently meaningless and without purpose. We are all here by the wildest outcomes of chance, and much like the atoms we are made of, we will spend our blink of existence bumping around chaotically and accomplishing nothing. We as a species will exist for the most insignificantly small amount of time, a time during which no individual can possibly have any lasting impact. Life has no point, we all exist by cosmic accident and we will all die just as silently. I’d argue the best way to spend this pointless time is on yourself. You are, after all, the only constant in your life.
The grand final truth is this: we have no home. On a base level, all (known) humans share a common planet. Earth may be our home, but Ancient Aliens probably has a counter argument about humans being placed on Earth, an argument which I am unprepared to refute. Crazier things happen every day. In the grand scheme of things as individuals, we do not have any lasting home. Honestly, the concept is unnatural. A place unlike the outside world, a home is a safe spot for family and friends. If you can call your one house home for at least 18 years you’ve done pretty good. No matter how stable things may seem, your home will be gone. Hopefully it leaves on a high note and not a story of tragedy, but life does not care. If you have no home and have no guarantee of home,why not be your own home? Easier said than done of course, but why not find those feelings of nostalgia, comfort, and freedom inside yourself? You are the only constant in your life. If you can find home within yourself you can truly be at home anywhere, a total defiance of the universal will, you can find a home you have complete control over. If you don't like the view you can change it, if you don’t like the neighbors you can change them. You are the only piece of the universe you have any control over, so kick your feet up and get comfy, you’ll be here awhile.
