Home: A Personal Perspective I have a confession to make. I don’t know what the word “home” means. At one point in my life, I may have had some idea, but that faded as I matured. When I was little, it seemed to be the place my family and I returned to after being somewhere else, such as Grandma’s house or the movie theater. It was where my bedroom with all my toys was, where my mother would bake batches of delicious cookies, and where my father grew his garden. It was a 3-story building in the tiny, rural town of Hartley, Iowa, separated from the rest world by fields of corn and beans. I liked it there. I couldn’t imagine my home being anywhere else. This naïve definition of home did not last. As I grew older, I got busier, and the place
…show more content…
Maybe, instead of “safety”, I should have used the word freedom. Instead of “privacy”, I should have said independence. While similar, these words have very different implications.
In Iowa, I was not free. I was under the mercy of my parents, and I was constantly terrified of them disapproving of the choices I made. Everyone in the community had expectations of who I was supposed to be and how I was supposed to act. I was also not independent, no matter how hard I tried to be. My parents were still the ones that made the final decisions. These facts could reasonably be a large part of why I felt trapped in Iowa. I had the mind and spirit of an adult, but was living under the reign of my parents. As soon as I moved out, I was free and independent. I could live my life without fear of repercussions or punishments. I could express myself in any manner I chose, and had no expectations to live up to. I was the one who made the decisions on what to eat, what to do, and how late to stay out. It was the first time that I didn’t feel stress in everyday life, because there was no one to worry about impressing. A certain relief fell over me last semester as I embraced these new feelings of freedom and independence. The relief even carried over into the holidays, when I returned to Iowa. The house I grew up in no longer terrified me, since I knew that somewhere out there was a place I could
Maybe, instead of “safety”, I should have used the word freedom. Instead of “privacy”, I should have said independence. While similar, these words have very different implications.
In Iowa, I was not free. I was under the mercy of my parents, and I was constantly terrified of them disapproving of the choices I made. Everyone in the community had expectations of who I was supposed to be and how I was supposed to act. I was also not independent, no matter how hard I tried to be. My parents were still the ones that made the final decisions. These facts could reasonably be a large part of why I felt trapped in Iowa. I had the mind and spirit of an adult, but was living under the reign of my parents. As soon as I moved out, I was free and independent. I could live my life without fear of repercussions or punishments. I could express myself in any manner I chose, and had no expectations to live up to. I was the one who made the decisions on what to eat, what to do, and how late to stay out. It was the first time that I didn’t feel stress in everyday life, because there was no one to worry about impressing. A certain relief fell over me last semester as I embraced these new feelings of freedom and independence. The relief even carried over into the holidays, when I returned to Iowa. The house I grew up in no longer terrified me, since I knew that somewhere out there was a place I could