Graduate Features

I heard a story last year about a fellow college student who decided he wanted to be homeless for an entire semester, just to see if he could do it. He roamed around campus, sleeping on couches in my university's student center at night, varying his location as to not attract suspicion. He would always leave an open book on his stomach while he slept to give the impression of being just another student pulling an all-nighter. He showered and changed his clothes at the rec center, ate with his on-campus meal plan, and kept what few possessions he had in his car. While I'd like to think that if it came down to it I could survive in this same scenario, the truth is, I'd probably go completely insane after a week of having to "vary my location." Something within me longs for more than just shelter; I want a place where I can feel at home.

The truth is, I've been "varying my location" my whole life. I have called several places home, but they have in reality been nothing more than a stopgap—a place to store my belongings and sleep at night. Within the past few years alone, home has been a couple of different dorms on my campus, a wooden cabin, a generic apartment, my parent's house (on several occasions), a couple of generous friend's couches, a ski-lodge style bungalow and half of an upstairs loft. I have never stayed in one place more than a few months at a time. As my "victory-lapping" fifth year of college draws to a close this spring, I am moving into yet another new place to eat, sleep and call my home. I will then graduate and find myself yet another locale to occupy space as I hopscotch on through my early 20s ...

OH DEAR SWEET MERCIFUL GOD, WHEN WILL IT ALL END!?!?

Okay, so maybe that was a bit overdramatic. After all, every time I start a new phase of life, I do get to meet new people and experience things I would have never gotten a chance to experience otherwise. Expanding your horizons, that's a good thing, right? Sometimes, however, I can't help but feel a little overwhelmed by my lack of a consistent, physical structure that represents to me, a home.

My family moved seven times during my childhood. Thus, I don't feel a real attachment to where they currently live. While the attic is filled with all my childhood stuff, and I go there on weekends to do laundry and get a good meal, my actual childhood memories are scattered throughout several other places of my youth. It has become hard for me to take the idea of calling anything a "home" seriously when I know that it is only a temporary situation. I can't help but wonder if college years unleash this same uncertainty upon everyone, and if I simply need to abandon, at least for a few more years, the idealistic image that I have of what a home should be. Most times, I am thrilled by the prospect of keeping on the move, seeing more of the country, and exploring more of the adventures that God has planned for me in the future. However, insecurity looms larger than excitement when one is hovering between phases of life, and I can't help but feel like my entire college experience has been one of those big, transitional phases.

Adventure is an exhausting journey, and living out of boxes can be a very draining process. Ultimately, though, I've determined that it's all worth it. Through these past few years, I have learned not to grow too attached to any physical structure as a "home." There will be plenty of time for that when I am married. For now, at 22 years of age, I am extremely thankful for the fact that I am young and unattached, and free to roam the world in search of the next great adventure. I realize that I am truly at home when I am in the presence of my friends, my family and most importantly, my God. At this point in my life, that's about as great a home as I could possibly ask for.

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