When you’re a little kid, home is simply where you live. It’s where you go after school. It’s where your bedroom is with the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. You may live there with your parents, or with grandparents, or another guardian. You may wish that you lived in a castle. Or in a treehouse. Or in the middle of the Magic Kingdom. But really there’s no question about it. Home is where you grow up.
Since I’ve gone to college, though, the concept of home hasn’t been quite as clear. When I am at school, sometimes I feel homesick for the house I grew up in. With the pink walls in my bedroom. With the kitchen where my mom makes my favorite chocolate chip cake. Where my friends from high school live just down the street. Where my dad will still take care of the spiders that make their way into my closet. Where I don’t have to wear shoes in the shower.
But then when I actually get home, I find myself missing Villanova. I miss having my own space and absolute freedom. I miss my friends and roommates. I miss walking around campus at night and the church bells.
And now I’ve gone and thrown study abroad into the mix. I stayed in France for a semester. And while I was completely ready to go home and spend the holidays with my family, I do find myself missing Lille. And the boulangeries with fresh croissants and baguettes. Where I could take a stroll into the most charming city center in under 20 minutes. It’s kind of a stretch to say Lille always felt like home, but it was where I lived for 4 months. It’s where I checked off a major item on my bucket list as a major Francophile. It was a home for me for a short period of time. Where I have many fond memories and had time to think about what I value in my life. I know that a part of me will always feel bittersweet thinking about my experience abroad, kind of like how I feel about Villanova when I’m at home in New Jersey and vice versa.
I’ve been wondering lately where is my actual home. It’s my reflex to say the house I grew up in in New Jersey, but when I’m there, I’m missing the other two.
I’ve come to the conclusion that home isn’t a physical place, at least for me. It doesn’t have an address. It can change overtime. Right now, I can’t imagine living in any state other than New Jersey. But who knows where my life will bring me after I graduate. Who knows where I will end up renting my first apartment. Buying my first house. Falling in love. Starting a family of my own. It could be in my hometown. Or it could be across the country.
I’ve realized that home is where I feel like I belong.
Where I can be myself and feel comfortable.
It’s okay if you’re struggling with figuring out where your home is. I think we all are on some level. It’s more of a mindset than a location. And that can be difficult to grasp at first. But I think that explains why we can feel content in one place but still miss another in the back of our minds.
