I am at home wherever I find myself

Each place I've lived holds a small piece of home.  I long for them and can feel their pull.

I lived in Fruitland from age four to eighteen.

During those fourteen years, I learned that not every girl grows up to be a ballerina and, despite what I once thought, I would grow up to do bigger things than be on the high school yearbook staff.

It was there that I lost my first tooth, learned to ride a bicycle, and experienced my first heartbreak.  I found faith in that town; I began to find myself in that town.  

Florida was the one place that I was ever truly on my own.

In the solitude, I became more acquainted with myself.  I grew out of necessity.  I saw magic and cleaned Cinderella's castle.  I learned that it was ok to change my mind.

I lived in an apartment by myself, spent mornings by the pool, and learned that happily ever after wasn't just a phrase found at the close of fairy tales.  I found love in that town; I grew into myself.

I feel safe in Rexburg.

It was there that I sat on a bench next to a boy while we discussed our plans for forever.  We made our first home there; we became one there.

That town taught me a little bit about strength.

As of last week, we have lived in Snowflake for a month.

Here, I have learned how to appreciate beauty.  My eyes have become accustomed to the red tint of the landscape.  The relationship between sunshine and happiness has been reaffirmed.

I have learned that grapefruit tastes better without sugar and words are better left unembellished.

Each place I have lived holds a piece of me, a piece I would not have found elsewhere.