I come from a small town with a population of just over 1,000 people. With the seven towns that consolidated into my high school, my graduating class still added up to only 47 students. It was the type of town you read about in storybooks where everyone knows you by your first name. It was small, and it was quaint. If you blinked, you'd miss "downtown" as you drove by. It was where I had lived since I was three years old. In an essence, it was all I had ever really known. And that's why I always knew I had to leave.

It wasn't just a spur of the moment decision, nor was it anyone's decision but my own. I knew everything about that town inside and out- I knew it like the back of my hand. There was nothing new for me there, just the same-old, same-old. I wanted to know more than just that town. I had always, since I was a little girl, dreamed of getting out to see the rest of the world outside of my little rural bubble. So when the time came that I graduated high school and the choice of where I would reside fell upon my own shoulders, I knew I couldn't stay at one of the local colleges with all of my friends that I had grown up with. I knew I had to say goodbye, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't hard.

I said goodbye to my parents, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, my little cousins, my brother, my best friends, my teammates, my teachers- everyone who had made me who I was, and I boarded a plane to take me over 2,000 miles away from all I had ever known, knowing I wouldn't return for half a year.

No matter how much you dream about getting away- about seeing the world- that initial moment, taking that first step of your journey, is the hardest thing you will ever do. No matter how tough you are, there'll be a tear to slip from your eye, I promise you. Of course, I had to conceal mine as I was headed into Basic Cadet Training, and appearing weak was not an option. But, don't think once I finally landed and shut the bedroom door at my Sponsor family's house, that I didn't cry my eyes out.

Goodbyes are hard.

But, they are necessary. For the first time in my life, I missed home. For the first time in my life, I called my Mom and told her I missed her. When my friends texted me, I didn't just leave their messages sitting there for hours until I felt like answering. I called my Dad, my Mom, my brother, my grandparents, and I told them I loved them, because for the first time in my life, I realized I had not done so near enough.

I had become so used to home, so accustomed to the in's and out's of such a small town, of its complacency, that I had taken it for granted. I had taken for granted the calmness, the serenity, the comfort... The coziness of a warm sofa and a blanket, with a dog cuddled up to your side, and the television on. I had taken for granted the sustenance and satisfaction of a homemade meal. I had taken for granted the quiet one-lane roads, and the rolling blueberry barrens, and the tiny grocery on Main Street. I had taken for granted having everyone who loves me just a phone-call away. I had taken for granted all of these amenities so much, that I had only been focusing on the bad. I had taken all of the blessings my home had to offer so for granted, that I left myself counting down the days until I got to "get out of there".

It only took me about 7 hours from boarding that plane to realize it. To realize how great it actually was. To realize how wrong I had been, and how much I truly had to be thankful for. Sometimes, you just need to distance yourself to see things clearly, and to truly appreciate them.

Living away, I thank God now for every chance I will get to go to the greatest place in the whole wide world: home.