I spent the past 20 years of my life growing up in Houston, Texas. Recently, my parents sold our house and left the city. I definitely struggled with having to say goodbye to my hometown, and the house that I had grown up in. Sometimes now, I don't really know how to say where I live. I'm caught in the middle of living in a college town but having my roots in a city where I no longer have a house. Selling our house made it clear that I have no choice but to move to the next stage of life, one where I am the adult instead of the child. I don't yet know how to navigate this next phase, or how I will be able to handle all of the upcoming changes, but this I know is true.

I am from five different cities, two different states, and it is clear to me that my "home" is with the people I love most in my life. It is in Cypress, where my oldest and closest friends are. Eighteen years of memories, my childhood house, the only place I have ever known like the back of my hand.

 It is in College Station, a place I originally never thought I would be able to call home. A strange blend of my past, but also my future. Surrounded by people I grew up with that now I can simply pass on campus, and new friends, which at times felt like I would never make, but am now so grateful for. The oddest combination of who I was, who I tried to become, and who I know I am now.

It is in Canyon Lake, in a trailer on the side of the highway. Inside, the two greatest people I will ever know. A place for new memories but remembering to never forget the old. A place of celebration, knowing that years of hard work can lead to relaxation and hummingbird watching. If anyone deserves to sit on a front porch in a rocking chair every morning, it is those people.

It is in Madison, a thousand miles away. The unspoken friendship between a brother and sister, knowing that it's not the same without them, without even having to say it.

And it is in Austin, the place I used to run to when I just needed to get away. Three months of living there on my own, three years of visiting the best guy I know, and soon, the place that in one year, I will start the rest of my life working in a field I love.

At this point, I technically have no house to really call my own. But a house is essentially worthless if there are not people there that make it feel like home. It took me awhile to get over leaving Houston, and having to become a visitor, instead of a resident. There does come a time though when we must learn to grow from the changes we cannot control. I am grateful for every place, and every person, that got me to this point. I am barely 21, stuck in so many different middles of life, but lucky to even have those middles to call my own.
 
---Erin McGregor
Erin McGregor is a Masters student enrolled in Mays Business School