There are so many things to love about coming home for break. Spending time with family, catching up with friends, visiting my favorite restaurants, ice cream shops, and the like.
This winter break, I made the rounds for these wonderful things within the first of the four weeks I was home. And with the exception of a few visits of friends scattered throughout my break, the family occasions, and a weekly visit or two to my local ice cream shops, that was generally the extent of my holiday break. Every other moment was spent sitting on the couch reading, catching up on Netflix, or watching movies with my parents.
I suppose my weekend trip to Chicago is something worth mentioning be it one of my favorite cities on this earth. The city is quite beautiful during the winter, as well.
But as much as I love being home for the holidays, it also brings an eerie sort of feeling as well.
Home isn’t necessarily “home” anymore. I spend a majority of the year in Los Angeles, and going back home isn’t as familiar as it used to be.
For one, I’m not as acclimated to this “polar vortex” as I thought I was. The streets aren’t as busy, everything closes earlier, and I become a captive of the cold.
Though being home was slightly uncomfortable, my last few days at home before I ventured back to California reminded me of why I love coming home.
Though the busiest streets may be empty on the coldest of days, the local stores close early, and I run out of things to do, it’s still home to me. My favorite ice cream shops are still in place where I left them, my the best restaurants still open when I need them, my childhood all in front of me, and everything else that led me to who I am today.
It may not be my only one, but Omaha is home. It’s Homaha.