where we belong

What becomes home? 

One of my favorite lyrics from any Bob Dylan song comes in 'Mississippi', a tune he wrote later in his career (Sheryl Crow also did a great cover). The song shambles and shuffles along, jammed full of evocative imagery. But then it drops this line: "You can always come back, but you can't come back all the way"

I love that lyric. Profound brevity. It captures an entire truth in 13 words.

The entire truth is this: some eras and places in life get so intertwined into us -- who we were when we were there, and whenever we resided there -- that when we leave, it's as though a bell rings and something changes, never to change back.

And of course, no one can unring a bell. 

What we call 'home' will change. 

Pragmatically speaking, I can still walk the halls of my high school. But of course, it wouldn't be the same as when I -- as a teen -- hustled from my locker to class, or to lunch, or to the bus. It was a home for me then, but that time is long time gone. I can always come back, but I can't come back all the way.

Where becomes home? We feel at home sometimes in life, uprooted during other times. If we stand in any place for enough time, we can't help but allow home roots to creep into the soil beneath us. We instinctively want to make a home out of wherever we are.

Depending on who, how, and where we were before college, college can quickly feel like a home -- where we can be ourselves (or a prototype of us), a foretaste of what's ahead. We find places. We live eras. We bond with people who love us as we are, even when we don't know who we are. We catch glimpses of what adulting can bring.

While senior year usually marks the peak high school experience, I'm convinced the college peak version of this is the junior undergrad year.

College senior year feels something like a concert encore: it's beautiful and often fun, and a joy. But everyone's also reaching for their car keys, thinking about getting out of the venue, and what's next. The show's almost over. 

By senior year, people get reasonably distracted by the array and approaching deadlines of possible next steps: graduation, looking for a job, figuring out a relationship, graduate school, year of service, marriage, now what?, maybe moving to a new city. It's not to say senior year can't be marvelous. It certainly can be! It just takes a lot of time to live in the moment. The senior year seldom affords that kind of time. But junior year -- that's a sweeter spot.

So to those who aren't sure where home is since coming to college, that's not just you. Home can be hard to find, and that's normal. The feeling of exile spreads through more human hearts than we might think. College tastes like that bizarre appetizer of some what comes next. Parts of the appetizer will make you believe you've arrived home. You may not be home, but you could be stealing glances of your future. How invigorating!

Home can be where you're from. It can also be more than that. It's a refreshingly elastic term. You don't always need the clear sense of where home is. Sometimes home finds you.

Your hometown could be called a home (if that's what you want). Yet while you're in college, going back to that place will feel like you somehow can't go back all the way. It'll be missing people and the faces of your peers. Something's different.

Can't unring the bell.

"So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight." -2 Corinthians 5:6-7

Songs About Home