I'm not sure if I've just been spending way too much time inside my own head lately, or watching too many movies that leave me feeling poetic and profound. But I think I finally figured out why I have such a hard time going home, but then also such a hard time leaving.
I'm at that point in my life where I feel like everything should be falling into place. Well, things are falling alright, but not necessarily how I'd like them to. I love my family so much, but I have a difficult time saying that I'm "Going Home" for winter break. Roy is not my home, even though my mom and pop live there. For 18 months now, I've thought that Salt Lake City is my home, though I don't have a bed or even a couch to call my own. Surprisingly enough, (or maybe no so surprising), I can't even call Salt Lake home now. Where is home? It's certainly not USU... I still feel that if I had an opportunity somewhere else, I could be packed and racing down that highway in an hour. I love school, but that's not what's keeping me here.
USU is not my home. Salt Lake City is not my home. Roy is not my home. Sometime in the last six months, I've forgotten where home is. Until now.
Home isn't a place. It's not something tangible.
Home, for me, is a warm smile from a friend. It's playing DDR with my thirty-something sisters. It's a midnight drive with Alisa to buy oranges. It's a hug from Christy, my sister-in-spirit. It's laughing about professors and oboes with Josh. It's calling or texting David at 2:00 am, and knowing that he cares and listens. Home is the people I care about, and who care about me. I guess I'm lucky, because my home is always with me.
Even though I've been living in almost absolute isolation for the past four days, I haven't been scared or anxious. I'm finally living the dream. I'm no longer being held back by geographical loyalties. I love where I am in life right now. :-)
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