Home

"One's place of residence" is Webster's first definition for the word "home" (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/home, if you don't believe me). The word itself can conjure up images of family and warmth, possibly a holiday reunion, and can bring comforting feelings of love and tranquility. I'm leaving Costa Rica tomorrow to return "home", hence the topic of today's post.

Throughout my life and travels, I have found that the word "home" is quite variable. Sometimes, it is much more than simply my "place of residence," however sometimes it is much less. After an exhilarating day of snorkeling, swimming, and burning my tender white skin on a beautiful Costa Rican beach, "home" is the cheap, bug-infested hotel to which I return to sleep. When I left Europe, I felt like I was "home" when I landed in a US airport, even though it was nearly a thousand miles from where I lived. Once again, I felt "home" when I landed in the Orlando airport, a 1-hour drive from my house. I was "home" again when we took our exit off the highway and I was once again on familiar roads. Finally, I was "home" when we walked in the front door of the house where I grew up. 

Perhaps I feel that my true "home" is where my family is, where I spent my whole childhood and adolescence. Does that ever change? Will I someday feel so at "home" somewhere else, or will I just create another version of "home" and have two? When I was in college, "home" was my dorm - 3 actually, since I had a different one every year. When I studied abroad in Costa Rica, "home" was the house of my  host family. When I studied abroad in Panama, "home" was the house I shared with two other students. When I leave for the weekend now, "home" is my boyfriend's house, where I've lived for the past 6 months. Tomorrow I will fly "home", to where my family is. How is it that I can leave "home", fly for 4 hours and arrive at "home"?

Why on Earth do I exert my brain power thinking of these things...?