There was a moment in my freshman year of college, right at the end of first semester, when I realized that this campus was the place I thought of when I thought of home. I was at the tail end of what was probably the worst few weeks of my life. It was finals week ,and as I walked into my building after a whirlwind two day trip to Minnesota for my grandfather’s funeral, I felt the faintest sense that I was totally and completely fine.

It was such a small thing, and yet in that moment it was the feeling I most wanted and needed.

That sense of home has come in many ways in the two years since that day, but it has never really left me.

I’ve lived in a selection of places, on campus and off, with my family, with my friends, before starting college and since –– and while I’ve taken each one and made it a home in the best way possible, there is something special about coming back here and calling it mine.

Moving back in after eight months abroad was surreal. I counted down the days til my return, planned all the restaurants I’d have to go to, the people I’d see and the things we would do. I pictured every place I had come to love, every nook I claimed as my own. I was beyond ready.

Except that I forgot one very important little detail. Of all the things I love so much about this place, one of the best (and sometimes worst) things about it is that everything is constantly changing.

So instead of coming back to a frozen moment of the life I had when I left, it felt more like a game of spotting the differences between two nearly identical images. Everything feels almost the same, almost as I remembered and expected, but the reality is that it’s all so, so different.

I’m still pretty confused about why the floors of the library changed, a little thrown off by all the unfamiliar faces, and not totally sure how I feel about the fact that there are new chairs in the union.

But I’m also already sick of the dining hall and complaining about work. I’m so over the frigidly cold wind that makes my face hurt within a minute of walking out of the building. My room is a mess, I’m definitely not sleeping enough, and everything is absolutely wonderful.

As easy as it is to remember the best of the things we love and forget the rest, I never fell in love with my school because it was perfect. I didn’t call it home because life was sunny and easy, I called it home because even when nothing made sense and everything had pretty much gone to shit, it was the place where I still felt okay.

So it’s been a totally hectic week, nothing’s even close to perfect, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.