Since moving away for school, it's become increasingly difficult to merely rely on the muscle memory it used to take to drive the main drag and back roads home. The last time, I missed my turn, and it threw me for a loop, to say the least.

There's nothing quite like one's first semester away to reveal their tendencies on the topic of attachment. I, for one—who was lucky enough to have and be able to bring a car to bring with me my freshman year—made the hour and a half trip back and forth every Friday night and early Monday morning (yes, I had classes the same day) each weekend I could manage. An expensive and arguably unhealthy habit.

My mom certainly appreciated it. Dad was under the impression that I was considering transferring to our local university, subtly pressing me to "stick it out" and take pride in my first choice since it was probably my first for a reason. With as enthusiastic as he was about my staying in Lexington, you'd think he was banking on the continuation of some nonexistent legacy. Nope, he just really liked "them Cats."

In hindsight, staying here was inevitably the best option for me. There were things that I was blissfully unaware of that are now apparent as the roots of the issue; they were bound to exist no matter where I was. I've found my footing in this place. Discovered my people.

I love the life I've cultivated for myself, and God is it different than anything I used to know.

That said, it breaks my heart a bit to admit how little I've been home-home this semester. The end of last year, I was bound to Lexington much more by my schedule and plain circumstances, but now I'm pretty proud to say that I'm here out of my own volition. If you knew me last year, which would've been a feat in itself, as I felt like I barely even stayed in town often enough to build a social foundation, this was simply unheard of.

And you know, it's fair to think and even say that this change of mind is not indicative of any accomplishment. The progress made towards finding comfort in my surroundings is simply the former of the trite "fight or flight;" it's human adaptability, and it was bound to happen, right?

Maybe so. But it also goes to show how things have an almost laughably funny way of just working themselves out.

I have a bit more advantage in proximity to my hometown, but I don't view it as a crutch anymore. Of course, I'm not well-versed enough in the best sandwich shops and nearest gas stations of Central Kentucky to consider this "home," but I'm getting there. To be fair, I can't even confident that I'll want to stake a claim here over any other place in the world.

Plus, the word "home" has too much weight to only identify one place for an individual. Maybe others appreciate the exclusivity it offers to one's birthplace or hometown or college town or so on and so on, but I'm a firm believer in the following:

We are made only from what we choose to take from the places we live and the people that come with it.

Alternatively, we don't have to identify with anything associated with our home(s) if we don't want to be.

We can certainly adopt a mixed identity of all of the places we've lived. Just as "family doesn't always mean blood," birthplace doesn't always designate one's hometown.

And, you know, "home" isn't always a place.