"I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself." -Maya Angelou

It was a few months before I was to leave for college and I was already getting the jitters. When they found out I would be going to school over 2000 miles away from home, most of my friends' parents would ask me how I planned to deal with the cold. Though at the time I found this question to be rather inane, I am now thankful that we directed our conversation to the weather. Much better than discussing whether I was going to miss home. Who doesn't, at some level, miss home? And honestly, missing home was what scared me the most. After having lived in the same house for sixteen years, and sixteen/eighteenths of your life, it's hard to imagine being any place else, especially when almost every single one of your friends lives within a 50 mile radius.

There were few people to whom I expressed this sentiment. I thought it would make me look weak. Of those that were privy to this raw emotion, one provided the most confidence-inspiring (though at the time, unbelievable) comment yet. He was a few years older than I and had made a similar cross-country trek in pursuit of higher education. It's really uncomfortable at first. You want to feel invincible because you're finally leaving the nest but you really do miss home. Then suddenly there's an inflection point. For me it was at the end of winter vacation my freshman year. I realized that I was leaving home...and felt like I was going home. It's the most liberating feeling. When college becomes your new home. I just stared at him in disbelief. No way. I'll always think of this place as home. 

In the NBA (and sports in general, I would think), playing at home is considered advantageous. In fact, it is also a reward of sorts. Teams are often unfavored to win if they are not playing "at home" and in the playoffs, home court advantage goes to the team with the better record. At some level, it feels a bit ridiculous. Is it really true that professional basketball players, people who make their living off playing this game, actually perform better in their natural habitat? But when you step back and realize that the players are just normal human beings like you and me, it makes sense. There is a certain level of comfort being at home. The people in the crowd are mostly rooting for you; you can trust they won't be waving some germy foam finger in your face when you are attempting a critical free throw. You got to sleep in your own bed rather than some rickety old hotel mattress. There's something soothing about being at home.

Growing up, I used to go on a family vacation almost every year. Sometimes it was with just my family. Sometimes it was with friends as well. Sometimes more than once a year. But no matter what, I always hated that moment when it was time to come home. Being away from home was a beautiful escape from the "hardships" of my life -- practicing piano and dance, doing homework, going to the dentist (I lived in fear of getting a cavity and it going on some sort of permanent record).

Once I went to college, however, home became the escape. Not-so-coincidentally my most common holiday destination, home was the place where I could get away from the stresses of my college life (surprisingly similar to those of my eight-year-old life, though twice a year, my escape included a visit to the dentist).

Almost exactly a year ago this time, on the way to a family Memorial Day barbecue (don't worry, it was vegetarian) I completely broke down in front of my parents. A rare occasion during which my entire family and family friends were in the same place at the same time, and I felt alone and lost. It had been a year since I had graduated college and I felt distanced from all too many people I had grown to love. I felt that my heart and mind had frequently been "on vacation" in other geographical locations. In realizing that this place that I had called home now felt incomplete, I only began to cry more. In an odd full-circle type deal, I was being a child in this place that had defined my childhood.

Of late, I'm finding myself more and more frustrated that I can't pinpoint home. A house, yes, but not home. As our lives take us down different paths and to diverse geographical locations, we, even if just for a moment, make our homes there. And when we leave, a piece of us is left behind. It's hugely discomforting. On the flip side, one could argue that it's comforting knowing that more and more of the world is yours.

There's probably a balance to achieve between feeling grounded at home in your day-to-day while still maintaining the remote pieces of your life. Unfortunately, I can't say I've mastered it. Unlike the almost two-hundred posts that precede, this one has no conclusion. Quite unsettling. How's that for a metaphor?