What do you collect?

When I was little I tried to collect different things; pogs, TY beanie babies; you know, the typical 90’s kid stuff. But, I am way to ADD to stick to one thing, so what I ended up with was a jumble of weird collections which my mom inevitably ended up throwing away because I left it lay around on the floor for too long. It wasn't until recently that I realized what I am collecting; homes.

When I moved away from home I started thinking about what really makes a place your home. My parent’s house is obviously my home because it’s where I grew up. I know which stairs squeak the loudest and I can tell you a hundred memories that go with each and every room. Then there is my best friend’s house. It’s my home because it’s where I spent half my time growing up (plus I know where they keep the snacks and how to work the tv). Of course there’s other places that became my home when I was young, my grandparents house where I learned to fall asleep to the sound of train tracks, or my aunts house where I went swimming every summer, the cabin we went to every year to celebrate Christmas with family. These places became my home because everything from them was connected to good memories, something I wanted to remember. When I was old enough to babysit I got some new homes. They were mine because I did the dishes, and fell asleep on the couch, but mostly because I loved those kids and took care of them like they were my own.

In the last four years I probably got more homes for my collection than the eighteen years before that. When it was time for college, when I really left home, I made a home of my own for the first time. My dorm was my home because it’s where I learned what real life was like, where I figured out that things were different without my parents around. Soon after that I got my own house with my best friends.  That became my home because it kept us all together, and happy. Four people who were away from our homes, making a new one of our own together. If I had to pick a favorite home, one to put up on a shelf away from all the others and shine a spotlight on, it would be this one. In those four years I got some other homes, boyfriends houses where I spent the weekends hearing stories about their childhood, or friends houses where I spent the weekends when I didn’t want to go to my own. These places became home because they were the homes of people I loved and I wanted to be a part of them

                Now I am in my new home, I have a pretty good idea of how long I will be here, and I know when this one has been added to the collection it will be time to find another one to add. There isn't just one piece of the puzzle that makes a place your home, but when some of the pieces are there, enough to make that place somewhere you never want to forget, then it IS your home. And if you don’t want to forget it; if you don’t want to lose it; you better hold on to it tight, and add it to your collection. 

Did I just miss the bus? (more importantly, does it matter?)

I’ve never written a blog before, but after a day of Friends marathons, chick flicks and Sex & the city I’m feeling inspired. I’m not trying to be the next Carrie Bradshaw or Nicholas Sparks, but there are some things that have been on my mind. The main concept behind them all today is time. Time’s an incredibly scary thing. During my 70 days in Italy I became much more aware of time then I ever was before. I had a countdown to the exact time I came home, I thought of every time on a clock in ters of the time it was in Bologna, and the time it was in Harrisburg. Military time quickly became my life, and by week 5 I think I had finally mastered the art of catching a train without running through a city like a true American Tourist. I became incredibly aware of the fact that if I left my “flat” a minute too late I would have to catch the 11C at 8:00 instead of the 11B at 7:55. And sure the 11C got me there, but I had to walk extra fast to get to school before 8:30. So, as weird as it sounds the most valuable thing that happened to me in Italy was that I got good at time. You want to know what’s even weirder? I don’t just mean in the literal sense.

I used to spend so much time thinking about the future and worrying about what was to come and what I would do with my life. I’ve had a ten year plan for the last 4 years and I’ve worked so hard at sticking to it. I planned so many details of my life in my head that I didn’t actually have time to look at the things in my life that were happening. Before you know it, here I am a college graduate with nothing but a plan. Sure it’s great to have a goal and know what you’re working towards, but you can’t JUST have a plan.  But, I’m not scared anymore; time isn’t such a terrifying thing. I spent a week unemployed, applied to jobs, and got one. And as easy as that my plan changed, I adjusted, and I moved on. Besides that I have opened myself up to entirely different opportunities.  Living for the future and sticking to the plan is just asking for a nervous breakdown. And trust me, I’m a girl who does not need a nervous break down.There’s no use trying so hard to make a perfect life for myself ten years down the road. Instead, I’m going to focus on making life enjoyable for myself now. Sure I don’t have a job that I can “climb the ladder at.”Yes I rent a room from my sister and brother-in-law, and share a bed with my cat. It may not all be a part of the ten year plan, but for now I am going stick to being a part of THIS time, and try to avoid running around looking like an American tourist.

So the moral of the story, maybe sometimes I miss the 11B, but what’s so wrong with that? There is always another bus. And you know what, I still know where I want this bus to take me, I’m just not so worried about getting there on time.