Home Away From Home

I love coming home. One of the greatest parts of trips and vacations is coming home. Partially because I get to share all the stories and adventures of where I just was, but also because I appreciate home so much more after. The small things I take for granted every day become so important when I'm not at home.

This summer has been a journey to say the least-living in different homes, which often includes using my car as storage space. But no matter where I've been, I have been blessed to come "home" many times over, even though I don't really have one. I have three house keys I carry around, none of which belong to a space that's mine. It's borrowed space. Borrowed home. My toothbrush is in a travel case and has been since May. I've lost a hair brush, a pair of workout pants, misplaced a dozen hair ties and some shoes, and honestly I'll be lucky if half of it turns up once I'm back from Amsterdam. But none of it really bothers me much, because I can still count on that feeling of coming home.

At one house, the house represented by a colorful key reminiscent of Hawaii, I get that feeling when my mom turns her head from her chair and says "My Child" and immediately tells me the crazy things my cat has done that week during his stay. My Dad always comes out with a big smile, just waiting for a hug. My sister, we give the peace sign.

Another house, the one I've been at most often this summer, has a brand new key made a few weeks after I arrived. When I come home, immediately my most favorite dog of life comes rushing forward, barking loud enough to be heard four blocks away, and once he realizes it's me, he takes up residence in the hallway near my room. He's my guard dog, big Commie. I walk into a room that has a mixture of my belongings and someone elses, but the combination fits me perfectly. A voice behind me says "well hello, friend", and the feeling of home returns.

The third one, by far the shortest term of my nomad summer, felt like home instantly because of who it represented, three amazing and great friends who have always welcomed me into their lives and given me the feeling of true friendship. Even being completely alone for most of my stay, I knew I was still in some sense, home.

There's one final challenge ahead-a long journey where I come home to almost no home. Of course, I have a place to sleep and a place to put my things, but it will be only a temporary fix towards a greater and more permanent home. The one that's all mine, the one that will finally have representation on my key ring. I doubt it will be fancy, I doubt it will be of elegance. But it will be home. My home. The place my heart truly stays.