The concept of home is something I’ve struggled with since I first left Cleveland in 2004-ish. It was a brief “pack everything I own and drive across the country” relocation that found me returning to Ohio approximately 8 weeks later. Tail between the legs, financially broke, romantically heartbroken, et al., ad nauseam, shit you go through in your 20s when you try to run away from your problems both figuratively and literally.

I moved away “for good” over 9 years ago – first, living in Pittsburgh for 6 years, and now the Des Moines area for over 3 1/2 years. I’ve had varying degrees of emotional attachment to Cleveland since relocating. When we lived in Pennsylvania, it was an easy road trip several times a year. I struggled with feeling disconnected, particularly after my grandparents passed away. There was no longer an open drop-in location. Going back to Ohio meant the trappings of stress, anxiety, not recognizing anyone anymore when we went out… guilt. I was determined to make this Pittsburgh-is-my-home identity my replacement.

I mean, it mostly worked… except for falling back in love with the Browns and clinging hardily to that fandom amongst a sea of everything black-and-gold. WHO EXPECTED THAT?!

Now, living in Iowa, we’re required to take at least two flights to get back to Ohio. The trips are fewer – at least once per year, but sometimes twice. The travel stress is different, and after setting boundaries and a rotating holiday schedule a few years ago, the feelings of guilt have dissipated. I’ve started to cry at the airport the last two times I’ve left, including this most recent trip over the weekend. It was such a wonderful homecoming for a cousin’s wedding that included none of the tug-of-war for visitation. We all had to be at the same place at the same time, and most of us (ahem) were on time.

“Where are you from?” people ask when I say I’m not from Iowa. It usually starts with, “Well, I moved here from Pittsburgh…” or “Originally from Cleveland, but I was in Pittsburgh for six years before here.” The definition of home is kinda fuzzy, but I find myself more using Ohio as my answer. I can still shit on its insistence that it is the midwest (because I’m from there and it is NOT). Sure, I get sad when I leave, mostly because of honest-to-goodness happy memories that were made. But I can also honestly say that I don’t miss it, especially when I return to Des Moines and I am bursting of love of this place we’ve made our new home.

It’s a complicated relationship.