When I was a child, leaving home for a weekend would cause me to be extremely homesick. I hated leaving the comfort of my family and, of course, my bed. I always grew up a homebody, so it was rather strange for me to chose a college in a different state, and five and a half hours away.
The first few weeks were difficult, but then Arkansas became my home. I made friends who will be my bridesmaids (cliche, I know), developed a love for my major, and finally didn't have the urge to transfer schools in the spring semester. And then it was time to go home. By the time Thanksgiving break rolled around, I was ready to see my family, but I didn't want to leave my friends! When I got home, I had this weird feeling that this place that I had called home for 18 years wasn't the same home that I was used to.
Why did I feel so distant from the place I grew up in? I felt guilty that I missed my college town, and ached to go back. I also felt guilty that I called Fayetteville home over the town that I was born and raised in. Then I realized why. I had spent the last four months in Fayetteville and all of my recent memories and fun times were there, not here. My friends, my oddly comfortable dorm bed, and everything I had developed a love for was there. But that's what happens, and it's OK.
Having more than one home is OK. They say, "home is where the heart is" and I definitely think that my heart is in two places, if not more. I don't feel as guilty for calling both places my home, they are both my home and as long as there are people I love wherever I go, that will be my home.
