The other weekend, a handful of us from The Whit’s editorial staff went on a trip to a conference in Washington, D.C. known as Media Fest, where journalists and advisers from universities across the country also attended. It was the first time that I had ever spent more than a day away from home unsupervised, and admittedly, it was kind of a weird experience. 

I had no real feelings or worries about going away from home, several states away, and knowing nobody there but the four peers I was attending the conference with until the morning of the trip. It wasn’t until I got on the train to Washington, D.C., that my nerves vanished, and I was suddenly hit by a rush of freedom that I had yet to experience in my brief time as an adult.

I had the majority of control over everything I did that weekend, unless it was something that I was planning out with the rest of the group. With the conference, I could sign up for whatever sessions I wanted, as many or as few as I pleased. I could sleep until whatever time I wanted in a hotel room all by myself, not having to worry about what time other people in the room wanted to get up and what they wanted to go out and do. I didn’t have to deliberate with anyone else about lunch or dinner plans if I didn’t want to.

It was all up to me, and I loved it. That is, until I didn’t.

By the end of the trip, I was absolutely drained. I wanted nothing more than to go back home, sleep in my own bed, and see my family, friends, and loved ones. But while I was glad to be back home, I’ve found myself itching to go back out and explore the world.

And that’s quite big for me, actually. I’ve never really been a fan of traveling to places, specifically anywhere out of state. I’m lucky enough to attend a university where I only have to make a five-minute drive every day. Some students at Rowan aren’t as lucky, as they might be hours away from whatever place they typically call home. I’m sure some people love being away from their families for such long periods of time during the semester. Then again, I also have friends who trek back home on the weekends quite often.

And you know what? There’s nothing wrong with that.

Though I find myself now more open to the idea of going out into the world and traveling to new places, that trip to Washington, D.C. also reaffirmed that no matter how sick I may get of it, I’m always going to want to come back home. And to me, home isn’t just a place. It’s more than just a roof and four walls. It’s a feeling. A feeling of security and familiarity, and even when that familiarity fades over time, it’ll never truly disappear for me. The bonds I’ve forged with the people I love and the places I frequent, that’s home to me. 

So no matter where I go or how long I’m gone, there’s just no place like home.

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