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"Home, Sweet, Not-Quite-Home"

November 28, 2006

Sierra, my youngest cat

There is a certain cruelty in the placement of Thanksgiving break in the academic calendar. With only two weeks of school left after it, Thanksgiving break seems to tease students, like giving a sip of water to an incredibly thirsty person. It’s just a taste of break, a few minutes to catch your breath before the final push through exams. Yes, there’s definitely a bit of cruelty to Thanksgiving break, but I don’t think we’d be able to get through the semester without it.

This year, Thanksgiving had a special significance for me: It was my first trip home since leaving for Rollins in mid-August. For more than three months straight I had slept in the same bed, showered in the same bathroom, and done my laundry in the same laundry room. I at last felt ready to leave my established surroundings and make the journey home.

Yes, this is a homemade muffin. Try not to drool too much.

I knew that going home for the first time would be different, but I wasn’t prepared for just how awkward it was. Things hadn’t changed much. My room was just as I had left it, the furniture in all the same places, the cats their same crazy selves. But for the first time I could remember, arriving at the house I’d grown up in did not light warm-fuzzies inside me. It was no longer “home.” I had known this would happen and even welcomed the idea, but the speed with which the house ceased to be home was something I had not anticipated.

For the first day or so of being “home” (I use the word because I’m not sure what else to call it, even though the house doesn’t feel like “home” anymore), I was acutely aware of being a visitor, an outsider, but this feeling soon lessened as I accepted my changed position in the family.

Despite the initial awkwardness, I enjoyed the time away from school. I still had homework (this is college, after all), but I was able to relax a little bit and spend some time with my family. What I enjoyed most, though, were the little differences between living in a dorm and being in a house. For five days straight, I had home-cooked food. I showered barefoot in a well-lit bathroom under a strong stream of water. The thermostat actually worked. It’s amazing how significant the little things can be.

Home sweet home

Thanksgiving break convinced me that I’d made the right decision in putting off my first trip home. In some ways, while I was home I felt as though I’d never left, slipping easily back into my old habits. If I’d gone home earlier, I know I wouldn’t have become as independent as I am now. So my stubbornness paid off.

While I was unprepared for how awkward it felt to go home, I was even less prepared for how natural it felt to come back to Rollins. My dorm felt more welcoming upon my return than it ever had, and even the bathroom was comfortably familiar for all of its gloominess. When classes started on Monday, not even the looming presence of finals could disturb my sense of inner peace and contentment.

I remember Dad telling me several times over the last year or so that when I went to college, my dorm would become home. I admit, I didn’t believe him, especially after touring various colleges and seeing the size of some of the dorms. I couldn’t imagine calling an area only slightly larger than my own bedroom “home.” Now (as so often seems to happen), I must concede that Dad was right. My dorm certainly isn’t the Biltmore Estate, or even a cozy apartment, but it’s my space, my world . . . my home.

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