Reading the last several posts from my peers about the variations in home: Chicago, family, LSTC, etc, reminds me of that little bit of sadness I get when I leave a place. I think it's inevitable, as we get older, to feel like the definition of our physical "home" changes. I remember the first time that my older sister referred to Pittsburgh, the city where she did her undergrad degree, as home. The pained look on my mom's face spoke to these growing pains. Even though the places change, I feel like I can find home in people.
As the numbers were dwindling in Hyde Park, finding less of those classmates in the library or building an igloo, I jetted off to Minneapolis/St. Paul, Minnesoooota. I've spent the last few days connecting with one of my very best friends in the world, Nikki. This sweet Minnesotan is a bit of home for me, especially around Christmas-time, because we used to live together in Bethlehem, Palestine. There's never a dull moment with Nikki. In the few days that I've been here, we've gone cross-country skiing, country line-dancing, to a Christmas parade, to the Mall of America and more.
I'll head home to Chicago soon, then home to Pennsylvania, but the bits-o-home are in the many people that have crossed my path over my last twenty-four years on this earth.