It’s day one of orientation. Sitting in a circle on the grass, you’re asked where you’re from or — as it’s more recently been phrased — “where do you call home?” Most people answer without a second thought.
What does it mean to call a place “home?” When I started college, I thought that was an easy question to answer. Home was the place I grew up. The place where my sister and I danced in the basement together, and where I could always find my dogs and cats waiting for me to return from school. But now it isn’t that simple, and I’m not sure it ever was. The longer I have spent away from that place the more complicated that word becomes.
Home is not a static concept. It’s a word that grows and shifts with us as we change. We discover new places and meet new people, find new interests and safety in unexpected places. Sometimes home isn’t even a place; it’s a person or group of people. But what does all of this mean for us — the people trying to find our place in the world, trying to find home?
As my time at Macalester comes to a close, I find myself anticipating the grief that comes from leaving this place — the campus, city and community that I have somehow grown to call home. When I return five, 10 or 20 years from now, will it still feel this way? Will I still get that warm feeling walking past Old Main, like this is where I belong? It took a long time for me to call Macalester a home, but will it take just as long to feel at home in the next place? I don’t think so.
My next step is to return to a place I call home. Not the one I knew for 18 years, but only a four-month timespan while on study away. Maynooth, Ireland became a home to me almost instantly. After going back there to visit twice, I am confident in saying that feeling has not faded. I was quick to find a home there, in such a special place with such special people.
When I think about the place where I grew up, I don’t think about the town, my school or even my house. I think about my pets, my parents and my siblings. They are the reason I return, the reason I keep that place close to my heart. Maynooth immediately felt like home because I had found my people, it didn’t feel like I needed time to adjust. I feel homesick for a place because of my love for the people there.
Building those relationships and safe spaces was only possible for me because of Macalester. Obviously I have learned so much throughout my time here, but beyond all of the papers, projects and exams I have learned how to get to know people. As much as I tried to pretend, I was really bad at talking to new people when I first got here. I was incredibly guarded and did not trust people easily.
This community broke down those walls. Eventually, I learned to trust my friends, and have spent more time laughing and getting to know the people who have become my Macalester family. Macalester taught me how to make connections and how to feel safe in a new place. That lesson means that Macalester will always feel like home. The people I know will inevitably disperse, but the memories with them on this campus will remain. The things I have learned about myself and the world will stay with me. They will always hold part of my heart here.
All of these ideas can be true at once. Places, people and memories make our experiences special. Lessons learned, people met and laughter shared make us feel at home.
Over the next two weeks, I have to say goodbye to Macalester. I have watched three class years of seniors leave, and now it’s my turn. My turn to hug my friends — whether I have known them for four weeks or four years — who have defined my college experience. My turn to cry and say goodbye to mentors and classmates for what feels like — and may possibly be — forever. Every day might be the last time I walk into a certain classroom, talk to a favorite professor or glance at a random poster that somehow has remained on the walls throughout my time at Mac. That feels like home.
Over the next three months, I have to say goodbye to Minnesota. Friends I have made off campus throughout my time here who I may never see again. My house, my roommates and the coffee shops I frequent. All of the little details I have taken for granted, I now realize how much I am going to miss. That feels like home.
Now, sitting alone in The Mac Weekly’s office — the first space on campus that truly felt like my home — I can’t help but feel bittersweet. This space has held laughter, tears and celebration. Hours of hard work over countless projects. Both the best news of my life and tough phone calls I did not want to happen. Through it all, this place is still special. And a place or people that feel like a warm security blanket on a cold day, through all the good and all the bad, is what it means when I say the word home.
