A few months ago, I attended a church service and the pastor posed the question, “Close your eyes and think of home. What do you see? Where’s home?” At the time, I thought of Chicago and my family and friends. Last week, as I was finishing a grueling, hectic and stressful summer teaching program in Baltimore, I could only thing of one place.

Home. On Friday night, I dreamed of my bedroom and waking up to a quiet, comfy, eccentric apartment.

My Home.

In Boston.

A shift has occurred. For the first time, I am recognizing Boston as home. This isn’t to disregard Chicago. The city will always be my first love. It is the home of my childhood, it holds the bulk of my loved ones. It is where most of my memories are held. However, after much resistance, I’ve come to an acceptance that Boston is my home too. It is in Boston, I am creating new memories, developing new loving relationships and cultivating my newfound sense of independence.

I don’t know how long I will stay in Boston. It may be for a few more years or it may be for a lifetime. One thing’s for sure, I sure am glad to be home.



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