Moving away from home is weird. In all of the millions of words that exist in hundreds of languages, that’s the only one that feels closest to accurate.
But life is weird. Filled with the paths we take and people we intersect with that shape us in forever ways. So what happens when those intertwined and overlapping paths suddenly split into two parallel lines? When the places and people that fill your days are now miles and states away and you’re walking your little line alone?
My line started in the tiny little village of Bellville, Ohio. And when I say tiny, I mean a population of 2,000 people. The village itself is only 2.75 square miles. I went to elementary, middle, and high school with the same group of 130 kids. Half of which were related to me.
Probably because my family is huge. I have one sister and five brothers just in my immediate family alongside 26 first cousins. I’d never known peace in all my childhood. And I loved every bit of it.
Not a minute was spent in boredom. Childhood was marked by incessant baseball + soccer games, dance parties, cinnamon roll Sundays, hide + seek, and the general noise that comes with seven insane children attempting to live alongside one another. As hard as we played, we fought. It’s a miracle we all made it adulthood and an even bigger miracle that we all genuinely like spending time together now.
Repeated rhythms kept us going. Church on Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings. Monday and Friday laundry days. Wednesday trips to the grocery store. Sunday afternoons at grandma’s. Saturday morning breakfasts. Mixed in with the wild schedule of seven kids who all liked different sports and activities.
The first disruption to my line was when I went to college. I’d lived my entire life in one place and wanted to go somewhere new for those four years. So off I went to the great state of Indiana (read that in a sarcastic font). I truly loved my college experience. And even miles from home for the first time, I still went to school with my older brother and seven cousins. If you haven’t learned yet, our family is basically relational velcro. Amidst all of the family I had there, I felt like I could strike out on my own. Meet new people, learn from different perspectives, and expand my experience of the world. I immediately fell in love with ✨ new ✨ New friends, places, foods, struggles, you name it. I wanted anything and everything new I could get my hands on.
That desire for new has been beautiful and terrible. It’s helped keep fear at bay when applying for jobs and considering potential futures. It’s driven me to take bigger leaps and make moves that remove me from the rhythms that built who I am.
In all the ways I’ve yearned and prayed and longed for something new, God has answered. He’s led me to incredible places, jobs, people. Each one of those lines intertwined with mine for a time. Shaping me into who I am, where I am, now.
Four years ago I moved from Ohio to Illinois. Two years ago I moved from Illinois to Minnesota. Each move taking me miles and miles further from that little town. Miles away from my family and my comfortable rhythms.
The irony is that in all the new I’ve been blessed with, it’s caused my line to go parallel with the lines of the people I love most. We intersect as much as we can, but ultimately their lives continue on each day without me in them. As does mine. We’re in each other’s lives, but the stories we share are separate. The small, seemingly insignificant parts of living alongside someone day to day get lost.
Sometimes those parallel lines keep me up at night. Usually the doubt creeps in when my brother cuts off all his hair. When my niece gets her first tooth. When my mom paints the kitchen a new color. The little things that I miss because of the physical distance. The feeling I get when I walk into my parent’s house and get bombarded with hugs. The feeling I get when I walk into my apartment alone.
Both of these places are home to me. It’s taken me a long time to realize that one is not better than the other. Both hold pain and triumph. Both hold memories and possibilities. When I search “home” in my photos app, the pictures that pop up are ones taken in Minnesota where I live now, and those take in Bellville. Somehow even my phone knows that both of these places remain home to me.
It’s a strange ache to experience homesickness no matter which home I am in. But it is an ache I am grateful for. How lucky I am to have two places that are safe, loving, and welcoming to me. I get to create new rhythms here and fall back into rhythms there. Each one making me into who I am now.
Just like roads on a map, my world expands with every line. It’s scary and heartbreaking and thrilling and delightful. A bigger world and a lot of airline miles. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder - I think it makes the heart grow stronger, fuller, softer. Thank you, God, for all my homes.
Got me right in the feels 🥹 love you and your talented way with words 😘
Love you. 🫶🏼