I feel like I've always been attuned to the overall mood of a place. Certain songs or books always have given me a sense of where I am, a sense of atmosphere. Even when I haven't read the book or heard the song in years, it only takes a few seconds to bring me right back to where I was before. I also think I've always been affected by the atmosphere of a place. Despite the fact that I can be a pretty messy and cluttered person, the atmosphere of my home affects my ability to accomplish anything. I feel like I'm fairly sensitive to the beauty or lack of beauty in my environment.
For all this, I've never thought too much about home. I look forward to going home, but in the past it hasn't been because of the place. Home to me is more a function of the people around me. If my family comes to Provo to visit me, I'm home.
But this weekend, I've been overwhelmed with appreciation for the beauty of my (now past-tense) home. I love the flowers and the quiet street on which my parents live. I love the painted, not white walls. I love the picture frames with my siblings and grandparents. I love the surroundings that gradually changed around me as I grew up, sometimes shifting but always in a way that was comfortable and everyday.
Now, my Boise family is probably rejoicing and my Modesto family is probably worrying that we are going to end up here. I have no idea where we will end up - there are pros and cons of each situation, and the fact that it is at least five years ago means it is not really on the radar yet. I'm just grateful for the awareness in the moment of how blessed I am to be in such a beautiful, peaceful place in this short respite from school.
