The semester is almost over and it’s about time to go home. It’s known that we live in a transitional age, both in history and in our own stages of growth. Some of us are revelling in the chance to relax and gather around the fire, so to speak, to recharge and catch up. Many are gathering up their belongings, writing their last “I’ll miss you’s” and “have a great holidays” on the white boards of their friends and professors. By Monday, there will be packed cars, packed bins, and packed itineraries for the coming season.
As it usually is with everything, we will all have different homecomings. Some will go to their childhood homes, taking up the old chores and picking up their sisters from school. Some are graduating, facing the reality of their new life with a fresh cup of “adult” eggnog. Some will stay on campus, learning about the holiday spirit and the validity of fruit cake with college friends. The consensus these days is this: going home is not as easy as it used to be. As college students, many of us have changed. Maybe home has changed in both location and meaning and the exact perimeters of home need to be mapped out again by the person you have become.
I’ve known home to be in a constant state of shift since I hit puberty. I’ve lived in roughly four houses between two parents. My home has been these places, but just as often it’s been in a suitcase, a high school library, a failing cafe, or the home of a best friend. When I came to college, I felt as lost as a person could be. I didn’t know anyone, I’d never lived in a dorm, and I had accumulated a lot from all the places I’d lived. Plus, it wasn’t even my suitcase I was moving in. It’s taken a few years, but I’ve found a home at Elizabethtown. It wasn’t in the halls or the library or the marketplace, but it was in the experiences I’d had and the people I’d met. Those brilliant moments of stress, sadness, friendship, and emergence are the things that remind me who I am and where I stand. I found that going home doesn’t require travel; it requires presence of mind.
There are ways to build a home out the the circumstances given to you. They require patience and persistence. You won’t see the results right away, but don’t get frustrated; the feeling of being landless passes as you perfect the art of going home.
First, look at your walls. If you could decorate a canvas with the parts of your life that you like, what would be on it? Print out pictures of things you’ve done and things you like and scatter them around like the pieces of a puzzle. To make them mobile, pin them to cork boards, glue them to poster board, or clip them to twine. Rearrange as needed to make the walls feel full, to paint your life on that canvas.
The next step comes courtesy of Maya Angelou. When asked how she’s made it through her life, she responded: “I thought of everyone who had ever been kind to me and had been in my corner and took them with me.” It is a simple sentiment that feels logistically impossible as we move across states and countries and occupations. All it requires is taking a moment to step back and say hello to someone who has shown you kindness. Ask them how they are, spend a moment talking to them, and be a presence in their life that they know is constant and attentive. You will soon have friends and confidants who will be there when you ask for help.
Which means, eventually, you may need to ask for a hand. There is an appeal to going through the world like a brave little soldier, handling everything that hits you on your own. You may think, “they’ll be so impressed, I did everything on my own, I was an adult.” Still, there is a lot of pressure in handling your own affairs and there will be mistakes and slip-ups. That’s why it’s good to have people in your corner to ask for advice and solidarity. We are not floating aimlessly through space with nothing to tether to, even on the days when we feel most alone.
Next, get out of the house! It seems oxymoronic to say to you, “make a home by getting out of it,” but there’s credence to the idea that sometimes, you have to miss something in order to make it special. Living alone as an adult makes it easy to hole up at home, under the guise of saving money or being awkward. But staying at home all the time is the best way to resent being there. Go out, meet friends at cheap cafes and public parks, and try new things in your offtime. You will discover your surroundings and yourself, and by the time you get home, you will be grateful for the homeostasis no matter what it looks like.
Now is a time of personal discovery that has a lot of associated growing pains. If you’re leaving behind your old living spaces, finding new ones, or making borrowed ones work, there are ways to feel at home that don’t require money or furniture or affirmations from “more successful” adults. There is a way to go home that doesn’t require leaving your college or returning to the place your parents live.
For me, home is shifting once again, this time across country borders. I’m headed to Iceland to practicing being an anthropologist and the transition is sure to be rough at first. I know I’ve got a toolkit to help me build a nest there for my spring semester and I hope that by giving you the same, you’ll build your own nest in your corner of the world. Until then, bless!