How I made Boulder my new home

Too often living in the dorms I find myself complaining to my neighbors about homesickness. During the cold break-less months, our guilty pleasure would be to huddle up on the rock hard futon and bitch: we’d bitch about the room size, about the lack of baths, about the constant subtle scent of vomit, about the lofted beds, about the food we claim is to blame for the double chin we didn’t have last year, and most of all, about the one guy screaming ‘SKO BUFFS!’ outside our windows at 2am.

If you asked me about ‘home’ two months ago, I would say I did not have one. Yeah, I have a Chicago apartment, and I have a dorm room. But, to me, this was not a home. Home was a place you knew – the place you had come back to for the last 18 years – where  you brought your first puppy, and then 15 years later, the backyard you buried him in; where you fought with your siblings, played catch with your dad, cried about your first break up, had your first party; And, the place you were locked inside after your mom found out out about your first party. Home could not be the dorm room I curse, or the city apartment my parents beg me to give a chance.

It wasn’t until I took my last sad step out the front door of a vacant 1144 Chestnut, that I was able to see that I wasn’t leaving my home behind. Yes, I was leaving my childhood house behind, but the people and the memories that made that house what it was to me will always be my home.

I will forever hold on to the fond memories I have of the forts we would build in that backyard. The drive-way I learned to ride a bike on. The makeshift baseball diamond my dad created in the front yard. The sibling wrestling matches held in the kitchen. The crevices my little brother and I would hide in to spy on my sister’s ‘big kid’ parties. The window seat my dog would wait for the school bus on. The attic that was covered in bubble wrap and balloons when I got asked to my first dance. The front porch I had my first kiss on. The cabinets my friends and I would raid after drunkenly wondering back into the always-unlocked back door, trying not to wake the giant family dog. Or,  the big red living  room couch my family huddled on the night before another one of us would leave for college, spring training, Asia, or whatever other adventure was next.

As heart-breaking as it is to leave that place behind, it really was not the place at all; it was the people it housed, and those people are what make anywhere a home.

It has taken me eight bitter months of moves to realize how lucky I am for them. Not only will I never lose the home I grew up with, I found a new home at 1720 University, Boulder CO, filled with new people and memories: a sorority house full of sisters; friends who will let me film them dancing on Farrand Field for a school project; the countless times we’ve rolled into some random persons’ room in Baker at midnight, and then had to face them in Sewall dining hall the next morning; or, the time we forgot whether we ordered 60 or 16 Boulder Baked cookies – either way embarrassing because there were only four of us.

Being at at 1720 University, we may miss a few backyard baseball games, but you will certainly find us picking fights at Powder Puff. If we start to get nostalgic about getting asked to  proms, we can be easily distracted when enormous gift packages are left at our door by a potential “Big.” And, if you’re like me and college left you with a big dog shaped whole in your heart, the almost excessive amount of husky puppies on campus might hold you over till break. It’s true, though, at 1720 you will never be able to squeeze on that big red living room couch with your family, but we’ve got a close second with a futon in 258 and a second floor family. Oh, and, don’t feel too bad for us if you see only one half empty box of Cheerios in our cabinets… we make up for it at Boss Lady.

To think it took me this long to realize, this year has just made me one home richer…even if sometimes this Colorado ‘house’ does leave piles of vomit at my doorstep.