Home

What defines home? I mean what is it really? I’ve come to think of it more as a “what” than a “where.” I’m not like someone who grew up in a military home where they were moving to different states every year or anything like that, but I’ve moved around enough to consider myself somewhat as a nomad. When people ask me where I’m from I respond “Minnesota.” But I haven’t set foot in that state for nearly 4 years. And I only spent about a quarter of my life there. I spent more time in Illinois actually. But Illinois isn’t home for me. My parents live in Boston, so if I were ever “to go home,” it would be to Beantown. When I apply for jobs and list residencies for background checks, two of my last three are in California (the other being here in Utah). I feel at home when I’m out there, spending time with people that are as close to my as my blood relatives. And of course, Provo. As much as people dog this place, I love it. When I leave for extended periods of time, I long to be back. I love the environment – being surrounded by my friends and extended family. It’s a lot of fun. It feels like home when I get back to my small little house with my two best friends as roommates. So where is home? Minnesota, Massachusetts, California, and Utah. And Hawaii. Because who wouldn’t want to live there. So where doesn’t really do it much justice. Where isn’t home? I’ve loved everywhere I’ve lived. Why? Because of what’s there. What is home.

Home is family and friends. Everywhere I go, I have had some sort of family. Whether it was mom and dad and sisters or the best friends I could ask for; there has been a web of support and trust and love. This is the key component for my idea of home. There must be the unconditional love of a family. I’m grateful for the people in my life who help contribute to that. This is the easiest to explain and I could list hundreds of examples, but I think everyone knows what I mean so I’ll skip going into great detail here.


Home is natural beauty. God has done a pretty good job with the whole creation bit. Everywhere I’ve lived, there has been an abundance of this. In Minnesota there are beautiful forests and lakes. Places of solitude and peace where I can retreat. I love that. In California I could go and listen to the sound of the ocean for hours. It’s wonderful. And here in Utah, I’m not sure there’s anything quite like the grandeur of standing on the side of a mountain. These things move me in ways I can’t fully articulate. Wherever I go though, I need this connection with my Heavenly Father in order for me to truly feel “at home.”

Home is familiar. Don’t misunderstand this next part – I love new things. But I need repetition and familiarity. Not in a mundane way, but in a comfortable way. I like driving on the same roads, seeing the same landmarks, eating the same things, having a (flexible) routine. I like things like that. I don’t find it boring. It’s just a reflection of home. When I think of Minnesota I think of driving past Fish Lake and I-94. I remember getting an oreo shake at Potbelly’s. I remember looking out my window at the two large trees that overshadowed our backyard. In California I remember breakfast at Beach Break Café and taking the turns in the Pacanos’ neighborhood and the smell of the ocean as you turn onto the PCH from Tamarack. Here in Provo it’s the walk home from classes past Smart Cookie and J-dawgs. It’s the towering presence of Mt. Timpanogus whenever I face north. I have done all these things so many times they have become synonymous in my mind with each unique place.


So those are a few of my musing thoughts about home. Again I reaffirm that loving relationships are the foundation. I could never have home without that. If it were possible to live in an extremely ugly place that had no elements of familiarity, and I had loved ones with me, it would still be home. But without them, no matter how beautiful my familiar surroundings, I couldn’t feel that sense of home. Home is love. And I’ve been blessed with a mansion.