I've been thinking a lot about the word "home" lately and what it truly means. Housing-wise, home has been a concept with little permanence. Although I grew up in the same city, I have lived in seven different houses. Every few years, we would move from rental to rental, and the cycle of settling in and making the houses feel like "home" would repeat. This constant cycle of newfound familiarity has taught me to associate home more with feeling rather than location. It wasn't about the physical house itself that made it "home," but rather the memories that I have from the house. I thought it would be easier to explain on paper, but I guess it is just one of those feelings you can't really put into words. I originally thought quotes such as, "Home is where the heart is," and, "Home is a feeling," were quite open-ended. But over time, I realized that there isn't much else to these quotes, and that's kind of the point.

Although I struggle to put these so-called home-associated feelings into words, I do know for sure that these experiences have helped me develop the skills to adjust quickly to my surroundings. Although the new house would feel foreign at first, it wasn't an aspect that would make me feel uncomfortable for very long. I learned to embrace the new and focused on the happiness I felt just simply being with my family, no matter the house we were in. I turned the happiness and memories into familiarity, and when I feel familiarity, I feel at home. I would say it's sort of a "skill" that I have developed, and I'm beyond thankful for it.

When it came to college, I figured I could put this new "skill" to use in a challenging way by going out of state. Unlike most of the student population of Miami University, my home is far away. Whenever I tell people where I'm from, they question why the hell I left California. I mean, I don't blame them; I'd be lying if I said I never question myself about it too. I always knew I could handle going so far away for college because I knew that I would treat my dorm room as just another new house of mine in the cycle of newfound familiarity. But what also helped was already being familiar with the Midwest. Every summer growing up, I would visit my family in Michigan, so the Midwest was already one of my "homes."

And to no surprise at all, I felt at home within just a few short weeks after moving into Anderson Hall. Miami became home; Ohio became home. Don't get me wrong, I had a few meltdowns during the move-in process. I actually flew into Detroit before moving in, and my parents and I drove down to Miami from there. As I'm sure many people know, the drive from Detroit to Oxford is not the prettiest sight, so I definitely questioned why I left the beach behind for miles of cornfields (it didn't help that I had left a boy behind as well).

As a rising senior, all I can think about at the moment is where I will end up post-grad. Where will my next "home" be? Throughout my entire college experience, everyone has asked me if I will return to SoCal after graduation, and honestly, the answer has always been no. I've been putting this answer into perspective this summer, trying to figure out why I'm saying no to such a beautiful place to live, to a place that built me. As each college summer has passed, less and less of my friends have been coming home for the summer, and my "true home" has felt less and less like home. If your people aren't there, is it really home anymore? It has felt a bit more unfamiliar as the years have gone by, and I don't really want to return to this feeling. Most likely, wherever I end up will be a completely new place for me, and that's ok; it's a challenge I'm willing to take, just as I did with moving away for college. Wherever I may go, I'm confident that I'll make it feel like home in no time. Most likely, I'll be closer to college friends than I would be if I moved back to SoCal, and being close to friends will help me seek out the familiarity I need in this new place.

Home doesn't necessarily have to be tied down to one single location; you can have multiple homes, just as I do. As I drive down the dirt roads of Bellville, Michigan, lined with trees as green as can be, I know I'm home. As I sit on the edge of the dock with my feet in Lake Memphremagog, I know I'm home. As I walk around Miami gazing at the brick buildings, marveling at the fall leaves and walking through the doors of the Art Building, I know I'm home. As I drive through Torrance with the Palos Verdes peninsula stretching out across my entire horizon, I know I'm home. From California to Canada, my "home" has little to no boundaries. When I feel familiarity, I feel at home, no matter where in the country or the continent that may be, and I wouldn't have it any other way.