If you would have asked me last year where my home was, I would have mumbled off an address in my hometown. My street, zip code, and state would slip effortlessly off my tongue.
This the address of a house that sits next to a cornfield, with my fluffy dogs running around in the yard and my family waving from the window. But if you asked me the same question now, I would be a little more hesitant to answer.
Home has become more of a flexible word.
Yes, I consider my home the house by the cornfield. But I also consider my college, my dorm where I sit on the futon and laugh with my friends, a type of home. And when I’m with my boyfriend, who lives across the country, I feel at home in his arms. As cheesy as it sounds, when I’m with him I always think of the lyric “Home is wherever I’m with you” from the song Home by Edward Sharpe And The Magnetic Zeros.
When you get older, that happens, I’ve come to realize. Home becomes not just one place, it can become many places, and it can be people too. I’m writing this article in the notes section of my phone while flying from Salt Lake City to Columbus. I just said goodbye to my boyfriend, but will be saying hello to my family in just a few short hours. I’m leaving one place that feels like home to go back to another home.
So what makes a place a home? To me, home is a place that’s familiar, a place that I can take a deep breath, where I can kick up my feet, truly be myself, and be with people that I love.
Not everyone has a place that feels truly like home, so I am very grateful that home has several definitions and locations for me. One day, my home might be in a house in a faraway city, with my love by my side, and maybe, some children sleeping in the next room.
For now, I fully embrace all my homes, and the fact that the word is shifting, growing, and changing.