My hometown doesn’t really feel like home. It’s supposed to, but it doesn’t. Pretty much the only tie I have left to that town is the fact that my mama still lives there.
Maybe it’s because we lived in so many places before settling there and then lived in three places once we’d decided to put down some roots.
I don’t know.
There’s something about where we live now, Dan and I, that feels unsettled, too. It feels like it’s not ours.
It doesn’t feel like home.
Our house feels like home, but this city not so much. At least not always.
Today we took a trip to our college town to visit with some of Dan’s old coworkers and friends. I felt my heart growing happier on the drive over as we saw the familiar sights of the highway that leads into town. Turning onto the familiar road headed toward campus excited me. I felt something like butterflies.
We all took a tour of some of the new sights on campus and caught glimpses of some of the old because it had been years since some of us had been there.
My heart smiled the whole time.
There’s something about that town and that campus that revives my soul.
It’s the place where I met Dan and our life together blossomed.
It’s the place where I learned what I’m made of. Where I learned how to survive.
It’s the place where I confronted depression and anxiety head-on for the first time.
It’s the place where I found me.
Of all the places I’ve ever lived, that’s the place that feels like home.