Hello internet people! As you know, I’ve spent the past four months studying in Grantham, Lincolnshire, UK. For those of you who don’t speak Harlaxton, that means I’ve been in England! I spent those four months writing, learning, laughing, and most importantly jetting off all around the world with the people who have become some of my closest friends through this shared experience. It was truly, truly the experience of a lifetime and I have never been more happy with any decision in my life. Even as a writer, I can often find no words to explain the things I got to see and do, the people I got to talk to, and the places I got to see. I wouldn’t change a single moment of it.

Hugging my “little” brother after four months apart.

But now, I’m home. Home in little old Ross Ohio, with its cornfields and its four wheelers and pickup trucks and tractors. Home in my suburban house with a yard and plenty of space in my kitchen to NOT panic someone’s going to knock me down. Home in the land of free refills and Reese Cups. Home where my family and my oldest friends are, and home with my cat, who missed me so much this time he didn’t even bother pretending to be pissed off at me.

If you couldn’t tell, I’m very excited to be back–at least, for now. While I loved every minute I spend at Harlaxton and everywhere else I went during the semester (or at least, never every minute) there’s something indescribably wonderful about being back in the place where you spent you childhood, the place where you know without even trying that you belong. And while I haven’t always been a Rossonian, I have definitely always been an Ohioan, a Cincinnati girl, and an American–even if I don’t exactly fit the stereotypes I learned so much about when I was abroad. As our car pulled into our subdivision, I felt a few tears in my eyes. I may have spent the last four months living in a gorgeous country house, but there’s something about home that you just can’t replace, even in such a beautiful home away from home.

My mom ran up to me as soon as she saw me.

I’ve been told that I will at some point experience a phenomenon known as “reverse culture shock,” where being back in America will suddenly become this weird thing and I’ll have to adjust back to being in American culture, as opposed to England’s. And while I can definitely see a bit of that, such as my bizarre reaction to seeing a dime on the floor, which was basically “What is THAT?”, I think right now all I can manage is a great sense of belonging unlike any I have ever had before. I always thought that, although I love being American, I’d want to live someplace else when I was older. Namely, I’d want to live in England. And while I’d still like to go back and give living in London, or York, or someplace a go, I know now with absolute certainty that it’s true what they say in the Wizard of Oz–there really is no place like home.