home noun - the place (such as a house or apartment) where a person lives; a family living together in one building, house, etc.; a place where something normally or naturally lives or is located

Lately, the idea of home has been on my mind.  Not because I feel particularly homesick
(even though I am craving the sight of the leaves changing and the scent of the crisp autumn air), but rather because friends have recently shared with me two very interesting commentaries on the idea of home.  The first was a TED talk titled Where is home?  The second, a Though Catalog article called How to Be Home.  Instead of explaining what they are all about, I've included the links so that you may enjoy them too if you so choose.

Saint Paul was (and is) my home of over 22 years.  When I moved to college, CSB/SJU became my new home.  In my four short years there I created memories of a lifetime.  For five months of that time, Quetzaltenango, Guatemala was my home.  I felt a sense of belonging and family.  I had a place to call 'home'.  However, I realize that the physical structure of a house is not what translates into a home.  If that were the truth, I don't think I could comfortably be living in Miami now, as I would constantly feel "home" sick, nostalgic for either the place I grew up, the questionable house in which I spent my senior year, or the yellow building at the intersection of 2a avenida & 16a calle.  All of these places are my homes and I carry them with me as living memories and constant reminders of the comforts and support 'home' entails.  

On the subject of home, I am always reminded of one of my favorite sayings from Ralph Waldo Emerson: "Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not."  I may have even used it already on this blog.  The reason I love it so much is because it provides connection.  A space in which to take all of the various homes I've had and bring them with me.  That is to say, even if I never return to CSB/SJU, or if I never live again in Minnesota or Guatemala, those homes remain a part of me in a way that makes them never really disappear.  My home is around me and within me.  I find it in the phone calls with my mom and dad, sisters, and friends.  I feel it every day when I wake up and look at the picture of my Grandma's lake above my bed.  I am surrounded by memories of Guatemala in the decorations hanging on my walls and the love of family in the cards on my desk.  

Though my physical location may vary, my home doesn't change.  It grows.