Across the country, millions of college students hopped in cars, stepped onto trains and buses, and boarded planes headed home for Christmas vacation. We were excited. We were going to see our families again. Some of us were going back to our hometowns for the very first time since leaving for college.

I was one of the students who boarded a plane heading from Dallas, TX to Minneapolis, MN. I was ecstatic. I had finished finals and was ready to spend some time with my family. I was ready to take a break and have some time to myself to do absolutely nothing. Granted, I was also planning to go back to my part-time job to make some money, but that's not the point. When I stepped off the plane into the bitter cold, I was excited. I found my parents at the baggage claim and grabbed my suitcase, and we were off to drive the 2 and a half hours back home. I slept in my old room with my cat and my dog. I was happy.

But as I spent more and more time away from school on break, I realized something that made me feel different. I looked around my childhood home, and I realized that while this may have been the place where I grew up, spent 18 years of my life, and made countless memories, this place wasn't home anymore.

Home was the place I had left at school.

I kept referencing school as "home". Minnesota didn't feel like home to me. So much had changed while I'd been gone. My house is different from when I left. My room is different from when I left. My parents and their lives are different from when I left. Even my older brother, who hates change and has stayed the same for the last 20 years, has changed since I left. Things are different here. But while things are different here, I've changed quite a bit as well.

Through the past 4 weeks, I've learned that my "home" here in Minnesota is more about my family. The geographical location I'm currently located in is not home. I don't really have a life here anymore. It's a strange feeling, and it's one that I don't think that I can accurately explain. But my home is back at school. My home is the friends that I left behind. My home is with the people who have been with me for the last four months- the people that I've shared countless memories with and the people that have helped me through times that I don't like to think about. My home is in my shoebox-sized dorm room with my incredible roommate (even though we have an ant problem). My home is with my best friends and all of our quirky adventures. My home is at school.

While I'll always have a place where I grew up, I've changed too much to fit. Where I once fit perfectly, like a piece of a puzzle, I don't fit anymore. The puzzle has changed so that it no longer needs the piece that I once was. And that's okay. I'll always have a spot at my childhood home, but I've learned that my family is home, not the location. I've changed, and they have, too. And while this place used to fit who I was, it doesn't anymore. And that is the beauty of life: we change and we adapt, and we discover new places to call home.