In the past eight months, I have lived in three houses, the house my family moved into when I was three-years-old, a rental home that we lived in during construction, and now, a brand new house that my parents helped to design. For someone that had lived in the same house for 15-years, that was a lot of change—and very quickly at that.
It's been a constant period of adjustment, especially for a college student like myself. One break, I came home and spent my last night in my childhood home. The next few breaks took place at the house we had rented for the winter. And now that school is out of session for me, I've spent the past few nights in the new house. Slowly, I'm getting used to the change and even embracing it (mostly when I'm not looking at all the boxes that need to be unpacked).
It's been a chaotic eight months, and as I spend my second full day in this new house, I finally have a chance to reflect on it all and realize what this experience has taught me.
We all know the saying, "A house is not a home." After living in three houses, all three of which my family worked tirelessly to make homes, I can say that I am a firm believer in that statement. A house is not a home. A family is a home.
Most importantly, my family is my home.
Interestingly enough, I never felt sad leaving these houses. And it wasn't until now that I've actually had time to think about why that might be. The truth is I was never attached to any house, never to anything tangible like the wallpaper in my room or the layout of the kitchen. Instead, I was attached to the memories, the laughs, the smiles—and as long as those came with me, I never felt any sadness or homesickness. Because no matter where I was, I was always home. (And yes, I do know how cheesy that sounds.)
Now, all of this may seem obvious to you, perhaps, but it was a sort of epiphany for me because it was my first real experience with moving. My parents asked me over and over again if I would be OK with moving, and I always shrugged my shoulders in response. At this point, I was 19 years old and spent eight months of the year at college. Moving wouldn't change where I went to school or who my friends were, nor would it effect my bonds with my family. So why did I care if we moved?
Yet, it seemed odd to feel such ambivalence at such a major change, and I don't think I've quite understood it until I put it in these words:
A house is not a home.
Family is a home.
My family is my home. And wherever we go, wherever life takes us, no matter where we live, we will always have a home. I will always have a home with them.
