Homeward Bound

In middle school a seed was planted in my brain about home and its meaning. Granted, home can be anywhere, but in this particular case the presenters asked, what would you do if your home--a place of comfort and love--became your enemy?  They used road kill to express their ideas. Today, this idea can be expanded to the war-torn countries of Iraq or Afghanistan, or, on this third day of 2011, the Ivory Coast. Regardless of whether home is dangerous or safe, the idea of the physical, mental, and emotional search for home made a deep impact. In my short life I've lived in four towns and have always tried to find my connection to home and what home means.

In this, my first blog entry, I will explore the meaning of home in the places I’ve lived and am currently living. And although this is my first entry exploring the meaning of home, I doubt it will be my last.
 
Lincoln

The place where I grew up, Lincoln to me will always mean and be family, friends, school, and childhood. It is a tostada from Taco Inn waiting to be devoured, a Saturday mother-daughter shopping trip, a skylight in the kitchen, dogs at your feet, and a blue, 1993 Ford Ranger in the driveway. Lincoln is a budding metropolis on the high plains exploding with leisurely activity. It was, for the first 18 years of my life, all that I knew and all that I wanted to know, where friends are abundant and life is easy. Calm, quiet, nestled, its uptown is non-existent and its downtown is a mixture of hayseeds, college students, and families. Lincoln is Big Red Nation, the unicameral, O Street, Jazz in June, fireflies on a sultry summer night, and, as far as I’m concerned, an undiscovered gem in the treasure-trove that is the United States.

Wayne

Home to Wayne State College, my first love, and my first taste of freedom, Wayne will always hold a special place in my heart. It was here where naps at 2 in the afternoon on a honey-colored bunk bed frame came easily and homework was downright painful. Where a cowboy in a large, cream-colored bucket hat could be found roaming the halls of the humanities building, no doubt inspiring my roommate with his Western-leaning poetry and proverbs. Where I first got a taste of rural life and believed that with a little hard work, I could save the world.

Aurora

Just the name itself—Aurora—makes me take pause. Aurora. A magical land with fascinating people who, in the just the year that I knew them, impressed upon me the meaning of friendship, love, good food and good wine. I fully believe that one could search the world three fold never find a community as uniquely wonderful as A-Town. It was here that I held my first job out of college (a major milestone) but more importantly, where I was mentored a small group of artists who dedicated themselves to their talents, their community and each other. For me, Aurora will always be a vibrant, blue art gallery in the basement of an old, German church, a coffee shop that welcomes the world, and a place where Normal Rockwell whispers to you through the trees in the town square.

DC
I’ve lived in DC for just over two years now and in that time, have been unable to capture the feeling or essence of home. Home here seems to be an idea that is fleeting and elusive—something just beyond grasp, almost mythical in nature. I find myself so often wondering why. Is it because DC is such a big city (5.3 million) compared to other places I’ve lived? Is it because DC is so far removed physically, ideologically, historically, and geographically from the only other place I’ve known? Perhaps it has something to do with my Midwest upbringing; after all, I still find myself in bed at night wondering is this great, fantastic adventure really my life? Or is it because of the unique culture of DC, which happened to be the focus of the Kojo Nnamdi show on npr today?
 
The fact of the matter is DC is home to two kinds of people: permanent residents and a transient population. There is no doubt about it—a transient culture is more prevalent and present here than, perhaps in any other place on earth. Made up of college interns, snotty prep-school kids, homeless folks just moving through, and those like me—foreigners looking for opportunity and the promise of a better life—the faces of DC are constantly fluctuating, like the current in a babbling brook.  And while this transient population is a characteristic that makes DC unique, the constantly-fluctuating population makes the search for friends, neighbors, and community difficult. How long I’ll live here I know not. What I do know is that the quest for home will probably be on-going throughout my tenure in our Nation’s Capital. That’s not to say that I haven’t dug in some roots here. DC has become my umbrella for labor activism, hula and Hawai’ian culture, and ethnic cuisine. I can already assure you that who I am at this very moment would not be possible were in not for the impacts this city and its people—transient or not—have had upon me. But, does that mean DC is my home?

The only real answer to that question and the others I’ve posed here is simple. Home is and where you make it. For me, home will always be a beautiful sunset on a crisp, clear fall Nebraska day. Home will always be a summertime midday kitty parade down a rural gravel lane, where your friends are the sweet smell of alfalfa and the vibrant, green bean field that kisses a blue sky. Home will always be a brick, ranch home that sits on the south side of a whimsically-named road in a middleclass Midwestern neighborhood. And home will always be the strong, firm, but comfortingly gentle grip of Cliff's hand in mine. Need I say it? Maybe home really is where the heart lies.