Once you go to college you enter this strange period of time where you don’t have a home. Not a permanent one at least.
Since the day I left for college two years ago I have had five different homes. I have called Glass Hall Room 207 home, I have lived in the Firehouse on Grand Street, Bunk C at Camp Pontiac, the little house on Clark Street, and now my large box home on Castle Street. From California, New York, and now Dunedin New Zealand and I’m not sure which one to call home. I suppose that Washington will always be home, even though I spend about two months out of the year there. North of Seattle, down the long tree-lined road that is Woodinville, tucked away in the forest, and you’ll find my real home. The one I grew up in since I was four, and the one that will always come to mind when someone asks where I am from.
When I was growing up in Woodinville, I swore that I would never settle there. I said that I had to leave, I had to get out. That I hated being trapped in the clouds and the trees. I should have known then that it wasn’t my specific home that was the problem, it was never Woodinville and it was never the weather or the trees. It was just how I am. I get restless, I need to move my feet and see new places. Now I am thankful for having grown up in Woodinville, for all of the green and the comfort of the tall tress. But I still can’t picture myself settling down there. In fact I can’t see myself “settling down” anywhere. So why must that be such a necessary thing? Perhaps some of us aren’t meant to stay in one place for too long. I like having five homes, I like picking up and leaving, but I like that I can always return to my tree-lined, evergreen air that is Washington.
Maybe one day I’ll find somewhere that feels like a home to me, somewhere to put roots, but for now I am happy to not have a home. I have my family as my roots, and that’s all I need.