Salisbury, Maryland, is what I list as my place of residence on most applications that I fill out. And while most people have no idea where Salisbury even is, I know everything about it.
As I returned home about a month ago, I realized that I had missed the place. I enjoy school, but I missed my hometown. However, the longer I spent thinking about it, the more it dawned on me that I didn’t even think I could call it home any longer. I have been in school for three and a half years now, and on average spend about two weeks in Salisbury every year.
Nevertheless, when someone asks me where home is during an icebreaker in one of my classes, or wonders where I am from during an introduction, I instinctively answer, "Salisbury, Maryland." It’s the first and most prominent place I remember. I mean, what can I say? I love the place.
And I think part of the reason I love it so much is because it never changes.
Year after year, I come back to visit, and year after year, it seems to be stuck in time.
Every time I drive back home, my teenage years rush back to me as I cross the city limit line next to the bowling alley where I used to hang out on Friday nights. I take a left a few streets down the road, pass by the local college and remember all of my friends who went there after high school. I take a detour and drive by the local park where I would walk with my girlfriend after school and then head for the familiar rows of houses that lead back to the only one I’ve known since I was six years old.
Almost every good time I had had in my life up until I was 18 took place in that beautiful town. My first bike ride, my first little league home run and my first kiss. So many firsts and so much life lived.
And then I left.
I left because I have the same aspirations as numerous other small town kids like myself: to do something big with my life.
So I went away, knowing that I couldn’t stay lest I be subject to the same endless cycle that everyone else in my hometown seemed to succumb to. I wouldn’t be content with staying in the same place, doing the same thing forever. I’m too restless for that. So I longed to get out.
I left and came to school in Columbia, South Carolina. And again, almost every fond memory I’ve had in my life since I left home has come as a direct result of the University of South Carolina. From First Night Carolina to all-nighters in Thomas Cooper, I’ve had millions of memories here which will always make me nostalgic for the times I’ve spent at USC. But I know that as much as I’ve accomplished in college, there’s still more to be done.
And after I graduate from USC I’m getting as far away from it as possible.
I’ve come to get restless here too. The same desires which drove me from Salisbury are driving me out of Columbia.
But while USC is a temporary stop along the way to my ultimate destination in life, I can’t thank it enough for taking me in when I didn’t have another place to go, when I didn’t know what I wanted to do. And when I look back on my years here, I know I’ll have the same affinity for it as I do my own hometown.
Because just like my hometown, it won’t change.
Sure, the people who go here will change, my friends will graduate, buildings will receive facelifts and new college football coaches will be hired.
But what won’t change are the memories USC has given me. The times when I was a student here who was trying to find himself on a campus of 32,000 other students trying to find themselves.
And to me, that’s what home is.
Home isn’t a place, but a state of mind. And what makes home, home isn’t the brick and mortar, the address, the city, or even the people, but the memories that come to mind when you go back.
When I come back to watch the Gamecocks play football 10 years from now, I’ll cross the Congaree River and gaze upon the skyscraper that was my freshman year dorm, Capstone. I’ll pass by the Greek Village and remember the sorority functions I used to attend. I’ll walk around the Horseshoe and see myself playing frisbee and studying for a midterm.
And as I stand there on the Horseshoe I’ll quietly mutter, “Thank you, USC,” under my breath, for being my home when nowhere else could have been.