54 is my new Air Harbor

I was not looking for that kind of home. I was firmly in the "home is where you hang your hat," cliche camp. I had lived in Cleveland and Charlotte and Rock Hill and North Augusta and Augusta and Cincinnati, and they all felt like home to me, as far as that goes. When I took the job at the Star, I expected to like Kansas City about as much as I liked all those other places. Why not? My second day in town, high on my new salary, I bought the biggest television I had ever bought -- 32 inches, or something -- and the hot girl who worked into the apartment offices helped me carry it into my place, and I watched an NFL game while sitting on that broken couch and eating Nacho Cheese Doritos and I was home. Lower case: home.

I really enjoyed reading this post from Joe Posnanski of Sports Illustrated about finding Home in Kansas City and now having to leave it. It ties into something I've spent an unusual amount of time thinking about over the last few years.

Obviously, growing up home Home was in Greensboro. That is where my parent's owned a house, where my school was, where my friends lived, and where I spent nearly every moment of my life. I knew that city from front to back. I had my shortcuts as well as longer-than-normal routes for when that was necessary. I knew exactly where I could find cheap food at 2 am, and I knew that I needed to leave my house at exactly 12:48 if I wanted to make it to Taco Bell before they closed. So Greensboro was Home for me.

Slice of Life

My discontent regarding Greensboro was not exactly a secret. Don't get me wrong, I loved living in Greensboro. I loved my friends, and it was a great place to grow up. But the moment I crossed the city line on my way to Chapel Hill in August 2008 I was done with that city. I wanted no part of it, and to be honest, it likely wanted no part of me. When asked (or unprompted, for that matter), I could list exactly what about Greensboro made it worth visiting on Holidays: my family, three of my high school friends, and my bed. That was it.

Eventually I came to like my bed in Chapel Hill more. And then I found parking in Chapel Hill so I could keep my car with me and visit friends elsewhere. You probably get the idea: the list has become very short.

So now I live in Chapel Hill. It's home to me. An hour ago I would have told you that it is Home to me, but I'm less sure about that having read Posnanski's post. I have a feeling that it is indeed Home. I know this town from front to back. I have my shortcuts as well as longer-than-normal routes for when that is necessary. I know exactly where I could find cheap food at 2 am, and I knew that when I make a 3am Harris Teeter run you have to enter through the left set of doors, and then the right set because they've locked the others. So I guess Chapel Hill is Home for me.

Either that, or I just don't have one.

(h/t for the blog post: @elizakern)