what is home?

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about what home is. As I look at where my life is now, where I have been, and where I hope to be going in the next few years, I’ve come to the realization that I won’t be spending much more time at “home.” From here on out, I will probably only be known as a visitor in my own house in Chicago.

So what does that mean for me now? Is Provo my home? That little third floor apartment? In all honestly, I think I have to admit that it has been for almost a year now, and I've grown to love it.

Every day for the past 10 months, I have come home to that little third floor apartment, with its off-white walls, brown stained carpets, and ugly blue furniture. I’ve come home to an oven that doesn’t really work, a stove that always smells like something is on fire (maybe it’s because of the fire we had a while ago), a fridge that I think used to be white at one point, toilets that don’t really flush, a swamp cooler that makes everything damp and sticky, a vacuum that just pushes all the dirt into little balls instead of actually sucking it up, and sinks that don’t produce any cold water.

But at the same time, I’ve come home to friends and roommates who stop whatever they’re doing to listen to a recap of my stressful day, the smell of home-cooked food on the stove or in the oven, pictures of Jesus Christ and my friends around the living room, and “The Dreamer” in the corner. I’ve come home to laughter, happiness, joy, jokes, and sometimes even tears. In the course of the past 10 months, I’ve come home to 10 different roommates, girls whose lives have crossed with mine for as little as 2 months or for as long as 9, until we all go our separate ways again. These girls have started to become my family, a little piece of home away from home.

Someone once told me that to them, home means that they can lie on the bathroom floor and not feel completely disgusting. If that is the case for everyone, I can’t imagine anything besides my house in Chicago ever feeling like home. No matter how long I scrub those floors, I will never feel comfortable enough to place any part of my body anywhere near our tub and toilet besides my feet.

In addition to “home is where the heart is,” I’ve also heard that “home is where you’re stuff is.” Both, I think, are equally true.

In all my short years of existence, I’d like to think that maybe I’ve learned a thing or two. But in the past little bit, I’ve come to learn that home is where ever and whatever you want it to be.

To me, home is where you walk through the door and are immediately surrounded by people you love and who love you. Home is where you leave a better person than when you came. In return, home is where you try to leave people in better shape than how you found them. Home is where you leave a little bit of your heart when you go. Home is where you can make mistakes and then learn from them. Home is where you can always find reasons to be happy. Home is where you find a little piece of yourself and add it to the puzzle. Home is where you create yourself into who you want to be.

As I look at my life, I realize that I have and have had so many wonderful homes. I will always consider Dallas, Philadelphia, and Chicago to hold a little piece of home. I’ve found a home in the hearts of those people that I met in Africa. I’ve even made a home here in Provo.

And as life continues, I’m excited to see where I will discover or create future homes.