I grew up in the small town of Goodrich, Michigan where I’m mostly surrounded by cornfields and farms and it takes at least 15 minutes just to get to the nearest gas station. There is really nothing fun to do there, unless you consider going to a lackluster mall or playing on elementary school playgrounds fun. But despite all that, I’ve noticed recently that I’ve been consistently catching myself missing home a little bit. I never really thought I’d be homesick when I moved to Boston, Massachusetts for school because, honestly, I was ready to get out of boring old Michigan. But the truth is, there is just something about being home that I miss. It’s a specific feeling that I can’t seem to find anywhere else.
Because I spent my entire life growing up in pretty much the same place, I always feel a certain way when I’m home now. It’s not a feeling I was really aware of until I spent an entire 9 months away from home. I only noticed it after I came home for the holidays. I always thought it was just a feeling I get when I am with my family, but it is more than that. It’s sitting on my own couch, in my own living room, watching the same DVDs I’ve seen over and over again. It’s sleeping in the same room I’ve slept in for most of my life. It’s laying on the floor in my living room and letting my dogs just attack my face with love. It’s dirt roads and the woods and bonfires. It’s the feeling I get when I remember how I spent every summer in the past.
This summer is the first summer that I’ve spent away from home. Ever. (I’m just realizing how sad that sounds as I type this.) But the more time I spend away from home, the more I realize how wonderful it is that I still have a place that feels like home to me. No matter where I go, Goodrich, Michigan will always be home.
I’ve lived in Boston for two years now, and at this point, it really does feel like I’ve settled in a little bit. I find myself calling Boston home sometimes (which I know makes my mom a little sad). But even though Boston is where I live and where I work and where I go to school, it is not my home. It’s not where I grew up. It’s not where the majority of my memories took place. I’m sure my parents would love it if I lived in Michigan where they are, but they know I am eventually going to move somewhere probably very far away, all the way across the country, or maybe even all the way across the world. Who knows? It could happen. But no matter what, when someone asks me where I call home, my answer will always be in the mitten; in the Great Lakes state; in little old Goodrich, Michigan. There truly is no place like home.
