Some of you may be familiar with the country song, “The House that Built Me,” by Miranda Lambert (written by Blake Shelton, because he is perfect). It’s a song that I have always loved to sing along to, but it wasn’t until my freshman year of college where I gained a whole new level of appreciation for it.

Moving out of a house I had lived in for my entire 18 years of living was difficult- to say the least. I had learned everything in this house. I learned that if you misbehaved you’d be sentenced to the steps for as long as it would take for you to realize that you shouldn’t sit on your sister’s head. I learned that there is no limit on how many times you can play Arthur’s computer game, Parcheesi or the beauty of dial-up and “kicking” your sibling off the phone because you had to check to see if your crush emailed you back. I learned things- big, small, good and bad.

I remember my freshman year, whenever I felt lost or stressed, all it would take was a trip home to make everything better (not going to lie, I still do this). It seemed that in all my 18 years of living that I didn’t really understand the impact a building could have on someone. Now when I hear Miranda Lambert singing this song I find myself in a trance, thinking about simpler¬†times. I am now 21, living on my own and I can’t even begin to describe the feeling I get when I walk into the front door of my childhood home and see the walls filled with memories. I find it so weird that a building can shape a person so much. I feel honored to have been able to spend so many years in my home and to continue to make more memories throughout my visits.

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