Home is where the heart is?

Right now, less than 48 hours before I leave to go back to college for a new semester, I am in a strange limbo. Coming home for breaks and for summer is a weird feeling, mostly because I don't know where "home" is anymore. It's a good thing.

Is "home" where my family is? Is it with the people who raised me, the people who love me unconditionally? My childhood home is where I first met my younger siblings, where I first stayed home alone, and where my dog lovingly comes to greet me when I open the door. I have friends here, the friends who I went through the most hormonal, exhausting parts of life with. I saw them every day for four-plus years. I went to my first party with them. I broke up with my first boyfriend with them. I got into college with them. It's safe to say my life would have been dramatically different without them. 

Or is "home" where I am building my future? Is it where I'm pouring my heart and soul into classes, where I am so passionately committed to doing what I love? I have friends there as well. I live with these friends. They have become the parents and siblings I left behind. We do mundane tasks together, we grocery shop, we meet at the library, we clean our rooms. Yet we also share some of the most exciting parts of college. We get into trouble, we make horrible decisions, and we laugh and cry about it in the morning. I don't each lunch with them every day. I don't see them every day at school, and I don't need to. I have learned to be friends with myself as well. This "home" is where I have become comfortable enough with myself that I can eat alone, grab a Starbucks alone, even spend an entire day alone, something that never would have crossed my mind in high school. This "home" is a place that offers new challenges, where I leave my comfort zone and return to it several times a day. And I can't wait to go back. 

1. Lolla

Every summer, lollapalooza is the event of the year for affluent Chicago-area teenagers. I’ve decided that this year was my last year going to the festival. Don’t get me wrong, I had a fantastic three days camping out to get front and center for Kendrick Lamar and singing along at full-volume to my 8^th grade anthem by the Killers, but I think at 19, my last year as an official teenager, this was the end of an era.

As the years went by, Lollapalooza always offered an opportunity for firsts. Living in the North Shore suburbs of Chicago, summer excitement was scarce. Without major news stories or crime, the idyllic neighborhoods became the bane of my friends’ and peers' existences, and so Lollapalooza became a part of the “North Shore Culture”, a place where rich kids could feel badass without consequences. At Lollapalooza, I bought my first beer (illegally, of course), smoked my first joint, and kissed my first stranger all within the confines of the fenced-in Grant Park. Lollapalooza is where I learned that sometimes teamwork means getting on a friend’s shoulders so you can finally see the stage. I learned that getting lost in the crowd is not always a bad thing. And I learned to take risks, just not too many of them. I learned all these things within a square-mile radius, never more than 100 feet from a fully stocked medical tent and armed Chicago Police officers. For me, and many like me, Lollapalooza is a safe haven where we can try being older without the commitment. It’s a time capsule that I stepped out of every year when I got to Oglivie on the last day.

This year was full of North Shore teenagers learning about themselves, but none of them were me. I saw a boy vomit all over his new Lollapalooza shirt, a girl whose tube top was a little too loose, and a guy who’s fake ID just wasn’t convincing enough for the bartender. Rookie mistake I found myself thinking when I saw all these people, struggling to become cooler, older. At that point, I knew that Lollapalooza had already given me everything it had to offer. I am no longer one of them.

Although this chapter of my life is probably done, thinking about Lollapalooza makes me appreciate growing up in the North Shore area so much more. Sure, the North Shore is known for its overbearing parents, a place where Jr. must grow up to be a doctor or a CEO, but for all the expectations it unloads on teenagers, the North Shore is surprisingly accepting of a music festival where drugs and underage drinking run rampant. Maybe it’s because our parents all went to Woodstock when they were young, maybe it’s because adults know that if they push too hard kids will rebel. Whatever it is, the community accepts a perfect balance of responsibility and newfound freedom when it comes to Lollapalooza. Because every hipster I hear complain about living in the “wealth and stuffiness” of the North Shore also has 12 Facebook pictures a year posted at Lollapalooza, their hotel rooms, wristbands, and Raybans paid for by daddy’s credit card, as they enjoy all the beautiful life lessons that North Shore culture has to offer. So, while I will probably never go back, I hope one day my kids will.