Unashamed Truths of a Middle Class Twenty Something

I'm figuring it out as I go.


1 Comment

It has taken me a long time to realize my usage of home is a little scewed. I use the word home to refer to any place I will spend the night whether that is my house, your house, a hotel in San Diego, an apartment in London, or a tent. “Let’s go home” basically means I’m ready to crawl into any bed I don’t have to get out of.

For me home isn’t and never has been a place. Home isn’t a state of mind either. Home is a person.

Home is the place where I feel safest, the most loved, the most accepted, and the most understood. Home is where I can be bitchy. Home is where I can be silly. Home is where I can say anything. Home is where I get an honest opinion. Home is where I am teased mercilessly. Home is where I have intellectual debates. Home is where I lose every argument, even when I’m right. Home is where my bad decisions are accepted. Home is where I can be wrong and it’s ok. Home is where I don’t have to pick up the pieces myself. Home is where I have a partner. Home is where I don’t feel alone.

My biggest fear is that I have already lost my home forever.


Author: Midwestern Twenty Something

RaeAnna is a wanderer on a mission; though, she's not always sure what that mission is. Taking on adulthood with a sense of humor, a book, and her dog, she's ready to conquer the world. Unafraid to celebrate her faults or photograph her tumbles, she aims to help people see life as an ever-rolling, lopsided wheel instead of the perfectly manicured and Instagrammably stationary square we wish it were.

One thought on “Home

  1. With the exception of the last sentence, let’s put this as a definition on wikipedia 🙂


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