Home For a Weekend: 16-Hours-in-a-Car-Later…

I’m from Wisconsin. Upon telling people this the response I usually get is usually: “You like cheese right?” or “Ohhh, it’s cold there right?” To both of these, I reply yes and with pride.

This weekend I decided to make an expedition home after the brutality of midterms left me sick from lack of sleep, an abundance of nasty food, and the continual desire to get off campus. The result? Everyone assumed I was suicidal.

“Why’d you decide to come home?” “Is everything ok?” “You’re not transferring, are you?” I felt a little tired and stressed, but nothing was so seriously wrong with me that I had to come home. However, after the excessive questioning I wondered why students chose to go home.

I went because I was sick of being at school and needed a break from my routine of studying until Friday and wasting time with parties and putting off my homework on the weekends. I needed some food in my stomach that was made at home and some pure, uninterrupted sleep.

And that’s what I got. Along with 16 hours of sheer meditation on life. Driving is a very relaxing thing for me, and I took the time to contemplate my future career, the gender of the driver in front of me who had a tendency to break, and the meaning of “home.”

When I told people at school that I was going home, they knew I meant Wisconsin, and when I told them I was going to be home at seven on Sunday, they knew I meant here in Columbus. I think home is a term that adapts to your surroundings–whether in the present or past–however, the feeling of those places is similar.

My definition of home is a comfortable couch, a place where I can wear sweatpants intended for a male twice my size, and being surrounded with people I care about and who care about me. I found that on both ends of the road.