Home.

Well, it's official! I bought a house.

But it's more than just that. It's beginning to feel like my new home.

Having moved 11 times in the last 6 years, the idea of home has long been subjective to me. College, graduate school and those shaky, indecisive years thereafter saw me moving from apartment to apartment--as well as in and out of my parents' house on Erie Street more often than any of us care to recall (four times, precisely!).

No matter where I lived (from the fifth-floor walk-up in New York City to the college dump that I shared with three boys) Erie Street was home. Everywhere else was just temporary, while Erie Street had become part of my DNA: Where my history dated back to dozens of days running through the sprinkler, hundreds of slumber parties and thousands of PB&Js. Where my soul could be bared and I could exhale. Where life made sense. Where I felt my most creative and comfortable. I never set down roots elsewhere.

Buying your first home is a journey, no question. I once heard it described as "deepening your roots and spreading your wings"--a striking metaphor. At first I thought, but how can you do both? But I knew: It's what I've been struggling with for the past few years, waffling back and forth between big city dreams (a burning desire to spread my wings) and the vague yet insistent pull of my Midwestern roots (a sense of stability I knew I'd miss if I simply threw a dart at the map and took off). I never really set down roots (11 times in 6 years!!) but I never really spread my wings, either. I was stuck. I was skittish in every sense of the word--restless yet wary. Craving roots and freedom all at once.

By buying this house, I have managed to attain both--roots and wings. I am 2.26 miles from Erie Street--but I have 1546 square feet to make my own. Thank you for being a part of this journey.