It feels like home to me..

This is something I wrote at camp this summer, maybe editted and added to, maybe not.



Home.
A simple word with a not-so-simple meaning.
Freshman year we had to write a poem about where we were from. I thought I understood it then, but looking back, I know there's no way I could have. I thought I knew what mattered...what made me me. But I didn't really understand. I hadn't experienced enough, lived enough to have gained the insight that allowed me to fully comprehend what the word home actually meant. The full meaning. I didn't understand that home can be more that one place (and that maybe...it doesn't have to be a place at all)--that where you are from doesn't just come from every place you've ever been and every "significant" experience you've ever had...it comes from the places and things and parts of you that have something more. That stick.

So. What is home? It's not just the place you live, obviously. But I also don't think it's just that corny "Home is where the people you love are," either. Because some people aren't lucky enough for that (After all, love is an extraordinary blessing, and having someone to love YOU isn't something you're just granted. Do you realize that?) And you can have people who love you who aren't in the same place you are. The bond that holds you together transcends both distance and time. It's not phsyical, so maybe the bond itself is a type of home...?

So maybe it's not "Home is where your heart is" but I think it's something close to that.
I've had many homes. My first house, which I don't remember much. My childhood home. This house, which I lived in shortest and in which I feel I've grown up most. IU. Forest West 227, more specifially. But other spots where I've made memories, too. Hopefully my apartment, soon. CYO camp, now. Maybe some parts of Perry Meridian High School...the Focus room, the swim team locker room. Those might sound strange, but it's true, I think. My friends' houses. Magic Forest. Random spots along the way that other people might just glance over, but which mean a lot to me.

I don't think it matters how long it's been there--for a home, I mean. I think it's more about HOW it's been there. How it shaped you and how you grew and the impact that it had..now matter what the thing is you're considering "home."
Home is like the backdrop to the drama our lives play out...and for that reason, you don't often notice how much it matters until it's gone.

So maybe you can be at home anywhere. And anything has the potential to be "home" (I know that this has a tinge of the hipster-"Everything is art, man"-vibe. Try to look past it)
Maybe the simplest way I can say it is this: Home is the places you let in. Let matter. Trust/love enough to leave a little of yourself.

To be cheesier: Home isn't where the heart IS exactly, it's the places you leave your heart.
And I'll leave you there. :)