It all started in East Haven, Connecticut. My poppy built a beautiful house in a beautiful neighborhood. My grandparents and mom still live there to this day, and it has been my consistent home for the past twenty-two years.

I went to live with my dad when I was just four years old, totally unaware of the life ahead of me. The life that my dad had in store for me was one that maybe he wasn't even aware of. The first step of our journey was in Westville, Connecticut. We lived in a small two-bedroom in a brick apartment building. I had a white, little, steel frame bed and went to daycare at the Jewish Community Center. The only memory I have of that place is the coconut shampoo I used in to wash my hair and watching "Barney" in the living room. After about a year, we moved a couple doors down to a studio that had a room divider separating my father's bed from my futon. I went to kindergarten at a Catholic school and at five, I was assigned my first chore, folding the family’s clean laundry. When first grade rolled around, we moved to Ansonia. It was one of my least favorite places to live. I went to public school and cried almost every day before the session started. One day, I walked into the classroom and my teacher congratulated me because I became a student of the month. I still wasn't very happy.

Halfway through first grade, we moved to New Haven. I switched schools and loved my new one. It was closer to my mom’s house and I made so many new friends. We lived in three different apartments in that town and that's when we got our dog, Chey. Fourth grade was almost over but it was time to relocate. Our next destination was Bristol. It was exciting at first. The home of Lake Compounce, ESPN and a couple of my family members were there. I had just learned long division at my old school, but now I was going to a new one and it was completely different. That is where the beginning of my struggle with math started. Then I moved to another school for fifth grade and yet another apartment in Bristol. I spent my first year of middle school in that town and was actually ready to get out of it. My grandpa passed away, I had to deliver newspapers with my Dad at 5 a.m. and our dog had to be put down. It was time to move. Of course, we did get Quinn there but anyhow, Westbrook was the next stop in seventh grade.

We rented a gorgeous house right on Grove Beach and I fell in love. It was hard to make friends at first. The girls were very cliquey and they all played soccer. I tried to join the team but I got cut so I played field hockey instead. I hated it. I played basketball and tried softball and loved that. I got my first real boyfriend without my parents knowing, went to the movies every Friday and spent every waking moment at my best friends house who happened to live right behind me. Never the less, when the year was over we moved to East Lyme. I was heartbroken and begged my parents to move back. The girls were mean to me and it was so far away from my mom. That year our middle school cut sports from the budget so I had nothing to turn to. Finally, I made some friends.

Freshman year of high school was spent in the same apartment and I had finally adjusted. I had my core group of girls and I joined the lacrosse team. I eventually started to enjoy living there, but before I knew it, we were on the hunt for the next house, which was a creepy cabin in the woods in Old Lyme. That lasted for about a month or two during the summer—even Quinn was scared. We then decided to go to Branford, a town that I was familiar with since it was neighboring East Haven. Although sophomore year was a bit rough—having to move to two different apartments in one year—I started to grow up a bit.

I hung out with friends all the time, had my first kiss that my parents did know about and continued to play lacrosse. I lived near the beach, which was nice, but by junior year, we moved to a cool house in the center of town. It was convenient so my best friend would pick me up to adventure around, or I would go on long runs around the green. I threw my first party in that house when my parents were away in Maine—I got caught, damn solo cup. That place was my home up until senior year.

It was a month before my eighteenth birthday and we found a new apartment. I was so over moving at that point that I kind of took control, chose the big room, got a big bed and had friends over whenever I pleased. Although it was further from most of my pals, it was still a nice place and I made many memories over the five months that we resided there. I remember the end of August packing up my things for college, but also packing the rest of my room up because once again, my dad was ready to get out of Branford. Rather than burdening him with all of my belongings, I decided to just go to my mom’s house. I was sick of moving from place to place and now that I was old enough to make my own decisions, I realized that if I wanted to stay close to all my friends in Branford, I would have to partially live in East Haven.

So over the past four years of college when I wasn’t in my dorm or apartment in New Hampshire, I came home to the place I essentially grew up in. Now living on Cape Cod, I am lucky enough to still have my escape back home, a small chunk of paradise in an old house in Connecticut. My dad joked that I could become governor because of all the people I met along the way. My mom complained about the driving, and I repeatedly said that I would never move when I was an adult, but here I am, on the hunt for a new apartment which I know won't be my last. The nomadic lifestyle isn’t always fun, but it is a journey that has lead me to many faces and places.

Over twenty-two years I have had twenty-one different bedrooms, gone to eleven different schools and lived in ten different towns. Each one was a rigid, amazing and insightful experience; one that I can ultimately appreciate. Home does not have to be a particular place, it could be anywhere that happiness and love are found.