Where is home? How do we find it, or do we already have it? These are just some of the thoughts I have pondered over the last few years.
The Merriam-Webster dictionary offers a few definitions of this vaguely specific word.
1. one's place of residence (n)
2. a social unit formed by a family living together (n)
3. a familiar or usual setting (n)
4. a place of origin, also : one's own country
These definitions seem to offer a complete picture of everything that this word could mean. But what happens when you lose sight of what home means to you?
Flashback to my second year of college. I am a sophomore living on campus with roommates in a surprisingly large dorm room. My family lives about one hour away, and I visit them often. They also come up to see me at school and are present at many of my events, such as choir concerts. About halfway through the first semester, I find out something I never thought I'd hear:
My family is moving away.
To give you a little back story, my dad was working in a small town in western North Dakota. He traveled hours to work, stayed there for more than a week at a time, and then commuted back home to Minnesota to be home for a few days. This had gone on for more than a year, and it was starting to take it's toll on my family.
My parents made the decision to keep our family together and to move everyone out to North Dakota. In theory, it sounded like the perfect plan.
The only problem was, while they got to be together, I felt left behind.
Part of the reason why I liked the college I chose was because it was so close to my family. I was able to stay in touch, continue to be a part of my siblings' lives, and get support from my family whenever I needed it. But when they moved more than 7 hours away from me, I felt like I lost all of that.
I felt like I lost my home.
I still had my family. I still had a place to live on campus. I could still visit my family, just not as much as I wanted. But I desperately wanted to feel like I had a true home again.
Ironically, all of this news came during Concordia's Homecoming week. The one week where Cobbers, young and old, proclaim their love for the small private college that made them feel at home for their years in school. At first, I was bitter, but then something changed.
If I could feel such a strong sense of home at Concordia and my hometown at the same time, then home couldn't just be one place. I was focusing way too much on the first definition of home.
Home is not just the place where your family lives. Home is not just a singular location that is dependent on a certain house or town. Home is not just the dorm building where you live.
Home is truly where the heart is.
My heart is with my family, wherever they may be.
My heart is with my friends who live around the globe.
My heart is with the people who have welcomed me into their homes over the years.
My heart is with my hometown that helped to raise me.
My heart is with my alma mater, Concordia College, who gave me the courage to be who I truly am.
My heart is in all the places I have traveled to and will explore in the future.
My heart is with the rest of the world.
No matter where my family may be or where life might take me, my home will be with the people in my life who I truly love.
That is what home means to me.
