Going Home

When I was young,

even in college when I thought I wasn't,

it was easy to go home -

back to my bedroom,

back to my bed,

back to my childhood friends.

One day,

on my way home,

I realized that I wasn't heading back to my bedroom,

my bed,

or my friends

I was heading away from my house,

from my girlfriend,

from my job and my grad school and my Tuesday night trivia game.

I had brought along essays to read for fun,

and downloadedaudio books instead of roadtrip playlists.

I was excited to see my 'old room,'

but I wasn't heading home.

I realized that I had made myself a new home,

a place of my own,

filled with love,

possibilities,

future happiness.

I didn't know what to do after I hugged my parents and walked into the house.

We were almost equals now,

and that meant I wasn't a kid anymore.

I was just visiting their lives,

taking a vacation from my own.

I don't know when my life became home,

and my home became 'my parents' house,'

but that's what they were now,

and I was my own person.