When we say the word home, most of us immediately picture something very specific.
A physical space with an address. A front door. Four walls that hold our things, our routines, our memories. A place you can drive to on autopilot.
Home, in that sense, feels concrete. It’s very defined and easy to point to.
Lately, I’ve realized that the kind of home I’ve been craving has very little to do with square footage or a lease. A few days ago, my mom asked me, “Do you miss your apartment?” I gave it up last year and moved back in with my family while I figured out what was next.
And honestly? My answer surprised even me. It was a very clear, very grounded no.
I don’t miss that version of “home.” But I’ve been thinking a lot about the other kind. The kind you can’t point to on a map. The kind that isn’t tied to a place at all.
It lives in your body, and maybe your soul too. Something you recognize before you can name it. A quiet sense of rightness. A lightness. A feeling of ease that stays with you, no matter where you are or who you’re around.
If I’m being honest, I’ve confused familiarity with home more times than I can count. I’ve returned to places, patterns, and versions of myself simply because they were known. Not because they felt good, but because they felt recognizable.
There’s a difference. (A big one. Ask my past self.)
Sometimes we’re not actually homesick for a place at all. We’re homesick for a feeling. For safety. For belonging. For the version of ourselves that once felt steadier and more certain. And when that version no longer exists, it can feel disorienting. Like walking around with your life packed in stuffed boxes and overflowing suitcases, waiting for a room where you can finally unpack.
This letter came out of that in-between space. The one where you realize home might not be behind you. It might be ahead of you. Or something you’re actively building as you change. And honestly? That can feel both exciting and terrifying. The thought of new soil and rituals. New definitions of what “home” even means.
