But here's what I've found out. Any apartment that I live in will always just be a temporary living space. It will never feel like home. Because home is where my memories are, with the people that I made them with. Home is a house in Sugar Land that I had my 16th birthday in, where my friends and I danced all night in our Halloween costumes. Home is snow outside the windows of the house in Pennsylvania that my dad grew up in and where my sister and cousins and I listened to Christmas music in the basement. Home is California Pepper Trees, mountains in the distance, and grandma drawing at the table.
Home isn't about crown moldings or pretty furnishings. It's about memories. And family. And one day I'll have a whole new set of memories that will create my new home, with my own husband and children. But for now I'm in a sort of limbo. Living in a nice place and just visiting home on occasion. It's not a bad place to be at all, it's a growing place. But it's nice to know that I still have true homes to go to when I feel a little homesick.