Home.

Home is where the heart is. Home, sweet home. It's more than a house, more than a city or town, so much more than just a place. It's a refuge, a sanctuary, a safe haven. For me, it's the first place I run when I have been lost for a time and need to be found. The concept of "home" differs from person to person. For some, home is not, in fact, the house that they grew up in, but some far, distant place where they found their true selves. This is not the case for me. My home fits the obvious definition of the word. It is the place that I did the greater part of my growing up. It is the four walls that built the girl who eventually became a young woman. It is the smells, the sounds, the traditions that inhabit the home in which I woke and lived and dreamt until the day that life opened a new chapter that required me to leave this place. No matter how much like "home" anywhere else that I may lay my head might feel, it will never truly be the place where I find my escape. It will never truly be my home.

I went home recently after being away for almost two months. Granted, this is not exactly a long time to  be away; I've been away longer. But each year that I've been away, I have grown more drawn to the place that I was born. It's strange. I viewed this place, when I lived in it permanently, as a suffocating place, a place with nothing to offer and even less to stick around for. I saw it as a black hole, a place in which to get trapped and never find a way out. So, naturally, as any wide-eyed eighteen-year-old would, I fled at the first chance of escape. And I did so with the intention of never looking back. At first, I didn't. At first, I coveted my newfound freedom. I boasted of it to those who had not been "fortunate" enough to get out in time. And I was in love with this new place that I found myself in. Truthfully, I still am. But, truthfully, it's not my home. I love this place and I love my school and the people that I have grown close to in my time here. I love being on my own and I love the idea that I have a bright future ahead of me because I am here. All of these things are true. Yet, every time I think of home, I feel a pull at my heartstrings and each time I go home and come back again, I can't help but feel that I am leaving my heart there, with the people, the places, the sights, sounds, and smells of the town that shaped me and the house that built me.

Both the house and the town I call home are modest; nothing spectacular or strikingly beautiful. At least, not to an ordinary, unfamiliar pair of eyes. But to me, this place holds magic and the ability to fuel even the wildest of dreams. I know this, because this is what it has done for me. This place, my home, has witnessed my greatest feats and my most devastating failures. It has held me through my deepest heartbreaks. It has heard endless laughter and endured countless tears. It was the sole spectator of my first kiss, as well as my last. It is the place that I truly fell in love for the first time and the place that was my comforter as I watched it all fall apart. I once resented this  place because it held so many memories that, at the time, I wished I could erase from my memory completely. Now, each stop light I pass has a fond memory attached, some painful and some heartwarming. But, I no longer wish those memories into oblivion. I hold them dear, no matter how much recalling them causes me to ache deep within my soul. These things, each and every one, are the abstract and broken pieces that have built me and made me whole.

I am lucky to have a home that I love so deeply. I am even luckier to be able to come back to it each time and receive the same heartfelt, warm welcome as the times before. I am beyond fortunate to not only have my family in this place, but those people who have accepted me as their own family over the years. There is no greater feeling in the world than coming home to the place that you love and being welcomed by people who love you in a way that is beyond my ability to fully grasp. I know with full certainty that no matter the circumstances, I will always be welcome here. I will always have a place that I can call home. No matter how far I stray, or for how long, I can always come home again.

This place, that I once regarded with such disdain, is my safe place, the one I now run to rather than run from. Now, instead of being ashamed of where I come from, I boast about being a girl from a farm town with a mall that is only one story and where tractors are the primary source of traffic. It is now a place that I can take pride in being from. It no longer holds all of my regrets and unforgivable mistakes. It is now a gracious place to lay down my worries and fears and know that I am protected and loved there. It is where I am able to find clarity and absolute peace. It is the place I return when I have nowhere else to turn. This is where I find myself when I feel as though I have lost it all. It is my refuge, my sanctuary, my safe haven. It is my home, forever. Only time will tell if it will be the place that I return to for good. But if I do, it will be because it is the only place that I feel whole, not because I was unable to escape. I only hope that, one day, I will be able to give to this place as much as it has given me. I hope to leave my mark on this place that is so deeply engrained in my heart. I don't care what anyone says, you really can go home again.