The Definition of Home

The word home always had a very clear definition for me. Images of my parents' house throughout the seasons cycle through my head.

First, the fall. Yellow and orange leaves fall from the trees as my dad happily tries to rake them all up. My brothers coming and going in their football uniforms with a parade of their friends behind them. My mom in the kitchen, watching the Patriots game and cooking family dinner.

The winter brings cold outside, but my house never felt warmer than on a snowy day curled up by the fire with a good book and a White Russian. It smells of apple spice and pine needles. If I close my eyes and picture it really hard, I can almost hear my mom singing as she hangs Christmas decorations.

Spring is the sound of rain pattering on the skylights. Just when I started to feel like the rain will never end and summer isn’t coming, the purple flowers next to the driveway pop up and give the hope needed to make it to the warm weather.

Above all, though, when I thought of home, I thought of lazy summer afternoons on the back porch. When a cool breeze blows you can almost forget how sticky and hot it is until the cicadas’ chirping reminds you. There isn’t a sweeter smell in the world than the combination of my mom’s flower gardens mixed with the fresh cut grass my dad has spent all afternoon perfecting.

I had never questioned this definition of home. Why would I when it was composed of pure joy and comfort?

This summer I hiked the northern 741 miles of the Appalachian Trail and came to realize that home isn’t as much a place as it is a feeling. For three months my “home” consisted of a two person tent and changed location every night. All of my belongings fit inside the 50L backpack that I carried everywhere with me. None of the comforts I had grown used to my entire life were there.

I learned to find home in the little things. The sound of rushing water and wind blowing through the trees. The smell of an incoming rain storm. The happiness brought on by a hot cup of tea and a dry pair of socks at the end of a long day. The satisfaction of a good night's sleep after climbing mountains that seems to go on forever. A fellow biker playing the ukulele by the fire or a perfectly timed cooler of trail magic.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the comfort of home and am forever grateful for the sanctuary that is my parents house. However, now I realize there is so much to see that to confine the feeling of peace to one place is to rob yourself of all the wonders that are waiting for you out there.

Leave your comfort zone. Get rid of all the material belongings you’re so attached to, but in reality don’t need at all. Strip life down to its simplest form and use the newfound freedom to experience something new. Allow your definition of home to change—to constantly evolve as you yourself constantly evolve. Life is too short and too beautiful to spend attached to one place.