i am currently in my parents house in texas. the house that i called home for a small part of my childhood/adulthood. i say small because we upgraded into our new (which is now current) house during my freshman year of college.
while i would visit in college, it was home. my stuff was still here. i left my crap around without a care. i treated it as my own. it wasn't a vacation coming home, but just a normal visit. i think living in a college town that is 2.5 hours away didn't really cause a problem in what was home and "home". both norman and dallas were home.
living in new york though, i purchased my first plane ticket, with my own money, to come home for a visit. and not just to visit my parents, but to visit college friends who i have not seen in over a year. a real vacation.
so i find it odd, but also mildly exciting, to be part of this journey where i am growing up. and being in a place where a vacation is going to dallas. and not just for a holiday. sure, i have my room. but, it's not my room. i don't have these exciting memories anymore in that room. they are all in my bedroom in new york city.
and i find myself being a little more careful with the house. i see myself more as a guest. maybe because i don't breathe in the house anymore. or come home at 4 in the morning. but i do see how far i've grown. and how much more i will grow.
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