Having a place called home

Sophomore year Thanksgiving break, I flew to Boston with some friends from Mizzou to reunite with some friends from Project Mexico and fellow Greek Orthodox people! I left my car at school and naturally, always try booking the most affordable flight accommodations. In that situation, the best way to get to Boston was to connect through Chicago’s Midway airport. After a 6 a.m. flight out of St. Louis, I restlessly arrived at Midway early in the morning, but I was confused.

It was in that moment where I realized how meaningful your hometown is. I emotionally couldn’t handle the fact that while I was “home,” I wasn’t leaving Midway airport and going HOME. My mind couldn't grasp that I was even still flying to Boston, and I just wanted to walk out then and there. From there on out, I have never booked a connecting flight and hope to never plan on connecting through Chicago when avoidable.

Over a year and a half later, this week, I flew back from spring break and landed into Kansas City. And I was confused yet again. I looked out the window for the Chicago skyline. I ignored the fact that I had to go get my car from the airport parking lot, and that my mom or dad weren't coming to pick me up. Although Missouri is has been my temporary home for college, I still wasn't home when I flew into KC. Obviously, arriving on campus in Columbia felt home-like, but I haven't traveled enough on planes to feel at home in another Missouri city. 


All of this not only taught me the meaning of having a city to call home, but made me excited to head back to Chicago for Easter this month!