I woke up this morning listening to Bob Dylan’s “Shelter From The Storm." Well, I woke up this morning to my friends either telling me to get up for breakfast or saying goodbye for the winter break. I listened to Bob Dylan shortly thereafter, when I looked outside and, finally, in my little corner of Boston, it was snowing for real. I had waited months to see the way lines of snow accumulates on the old brass windowsills on the Little Building of Emerson College. As I got ready for the day, thinking about the bus I had to catch, it only grew stronger in its speed and weight, flying down from the sky like it was racing to meet the ground. Feels like a good way to end the semester and begin winter break.
I’ve had a great semester. I’ve made the best friends, had fun classes, and made the city my own. Honestly, it’s a bit cliché, but it went by so quickly; it amazes me that I’m already headed home for Christmas. I love that I get to “come home” instead of just “have a break." Finally, I have a place I chose for myself, something I decorated, something I made, and now after four months, I get to go home to my family, I’ve finally been gone long enough to be able to have two homes: the one I made, and the one I share. It feels like my home is Emerson, because it’s mine- not my parent’s, but my home is home… which is ridiculous to say, but I say it like that because it has become a word with two meanings. And yet only one word can describe your first home, your parent’s home, your hometown etc… my HOME is my HOME because I share it with the people I love. MY home is MINE because I picked it. Huge differences, and yet both fantastic and equally great places to be depending on my mood. I hope that makes sense.
And now, as I’m going home, as I’m picking a month's worth of clothes and carrying way too many bags, I am so ready to not have to make my own home. It’s already all there waiting for me, and my Mom will be there with it. I don’t have to worry about making the dorm look cozy or if I have enough shampoo, I don’t have to “adult” quite as much any more. I hate the term “adulting” but it makes sense in this context, I think we all relax back a few years in responsibility when we come home. Hopefully we don't lapse back into childhood or god forbid the tween years, but certainly in some way that helps us to feel even slightly less accountable. Even if your home is as crazy as mine is, somehow it still feels more relaxing to know your back in your safety net.