Two days ago I took my last final and headed for home. Closing the chapter on junior year in Greenville, I headed drove to Rock Hill, South Caroline. After a brief stay in Rock Hill (brief meaning two days) I’m now headed to Atlanta to spend the weekend with my parents before I leave for Tel Aviv, Israel (!!!!!!) on Monday. The past week in itself has been a whirlwind, not to mention the entirety of junior year. And, as I embark on a 3 week trip across the country, immediately starting an internship in Greenville when I get back, I realize this is not exactly the typical vision of “coming home for the summer”. In fact, in August, I will have spent less than 7 non-consecutive days at the house where I grew up. And actually, since I started college, I haven’t spent a summer at home.
To be honest… I’m okay with that.
It’s not that I don’t love my parents. Trust me, I do. I actually don’t know what I’d do without them. They’ve always supported me, and shown me all the love I could ever hope for. And because of that I feel the freedom and confidence to venture on my own. Really, for me, thats what home is. Its not an address, or a zip code. Home is the people that love and support you. Home is with you regardless of your location in space. Home is in the values my parents instilled in me. Home is in the love and grace with which they raised me. Home is in the deep belly laughs of my father that erupt from me when I hear a really funny joke. Home is in my mother and my identical love of all things vintage. Home is in the quiet, gentle spirit I inherited from my father. Home is in my mother’s Type A personality that comes out of me occasionally. This weekend, my parents and I will be home together in Atlanta. We’ll laugh and talk. We’ll love. And, as we say our good-byes at the airport, I’ll be comforted knowing that even though I’m not technically home, home is always with me.