That’s where you live!

Where we live is more than a place

Our son Grant gives wonderful bear hugs. He often pulls me in close to his over-six-foot frame and croons, “That’s where you live!”

They say you can tell a lot about a person by the company they keep, but you can also tell a lot by knowing where they live—and I don’t just mean which city or house they live in. In college, I tired quickly of the standard trio of introductory questions: “What’s your name? Where are you from? What’s your major?” I have to admit that knowing where people were from provided at least a small dot on my mental map and it did tell me something about them—if they had cold winters, if they grew up by the ocean, or if they were city people or country folks. What it did not explain, though, is what kind of home they lived in. Even a photo of their home and family couldn’t really tell me where they were from.

What keeps me young

BYU campus at night

A month ago, my middle child graduated from high school, and four days later he started college. He joined his two older siblings at the same university. His departure marked the official day my nest tipped, leaving it now more empty than full. I'm not sure how it happened. I'm not sure when it happened. Just a moment or two ago, I was in my son's place--even at the same university--taking mind-expanding classes, washing dishes in the dorm cafeteria, having late-night conversations with roommates, spending long yet fascinating hours head-down in the library, walking home barefoot on intoxicating summer evenings, dancing in the street...all the while trying to figure out my future. Those were pivotal years marked by many seminal moments of learning and making key choices. 

And just like that, three of my children have taken my place.