A week or so ago, Malcolm and I took a road trip to Oklahoma for my uncle’s memorial. I lived in Oklahoma for six years while I completed undergrad and grad school. It was the first place I got my sea legs as an adult. I forged relationships there that have changed my entire trajectory. While I was there, I got a strange, almost sense of home, so I furiously typed the paragraph below into my phone.

What is it about home that feels like my cells recognize this place, deep in my nuclei? It’s a feeling of belonging, of traveling the exact same road I have since I was a kid. The road with the black tar squiggles covering concrete cracks. Familiar, comforting, but also not home anymore. My nuclei have been infused with conifer and mountain air, that was once composed of the radiant, rusty Oklahoma soil. It feels right, and yet almost imperceptively off. Just a touch akimbo. It will never be the same as it was when I lived there, yet it will always be the same as when I lived there. I am not the same as when I lived there. My marrow knows things I do not.

My bones are my true home.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Thanks or reading!

xMaegan