The longer I live, the more I am convinced that life is not really an ongoing process of learning. Life is an ongoing cycle of learning and… unlearning.

My first experience with this was at puberty, when I discovered that my mantra of “I hate boys” was no longer true. Instead, I was wishing that boys would like me. I had spent my whole life up until then being certain that boys were stupid and icky and I would never want to be associated with one. But suddenly, and still today, while I mostly still think that boys are stupid, and many of them are still icky, some day I do want to be married to one.

I also came across a lot of these situations in college, especially in my higher math classes. In every math class of my academic career, from Kindergarten through two semesters of calculus, I learned that 1 + 1 = 2. Simple, right? And always true. But alas, I later spent my last two years of college unlearning that fact. No assumptions about 1 + 1 could be made any more. In some number systems, 1 + 1 = 0. (I kid you not. In higher math, all bets are off. Why do you think I got out when I did?)

But one concept that I find has been going through consistent and rapid cycles of learning and unlearning is the definition of the word “home.”

I grew up like every other kid, being taught to memorize my address so I would never be lost. I was given homework, and told what time to be home. Home meant the house where my parents lived, the place where I slept, period. No confusion.

But in college, things got complicated. I can still remember that awkward moment when I first referred to my freshman dorm room as home. I struggled with the idea of not knowing where home really was any more. Could I really call this 12 foot by 12 foot room my home? But on the other hand, how could my home be somewhere I did not live eight months out of the year?

Fortunately, after a few weeks of this melodramatic pondering, I decided that the more important question was, “Why do I care?” But still, during that time, I had to unlearn the strict definition of home as being the house where I grew up, and learn that perhaps my home changed depending on my geographic location. It was more about where I belonged at the time.

My semester in Sweden brought this issue up again. Multiple cities complicated the situation enough. Throw in multiple countries, and an over-thinker like me will obsess for a while. There was one jaunt of traveling I did during the semester that was nearly three weeks long. When I stepped off the train in Stockholm, I can remember thinking to myself, “God, it’s good to be home.” Then, of course, I spent a subsequent two or three weeks wondering how I could possibly feel at home in a country where I did not speak the language. I mean, these people put salt on black licorice! And actually ate it! What was it that made me think I belonged there?

Again, it was time to unlearn what I thought I knew about homes. I knew I didn’t belong in Sweden. But I felt at home there. So what is it that makes a home?

I’m still not sure that I know. Twenty-something is an odd time in a person’s life when it comes to homes. In the last five years, I have lived at seven different addresses. I have lived in two countries and in two states. At some time, I considered every single one my home. Even more, at some of those addresses, I found I also had second or third “homes,” at my church or at my friends’ places.

In the course of writing this, I have become convinced that home is more a state of mind than a location. I am at home in my house, because I will walk around in my towel or bathrobe. I am at home in my cubicle, because I can reach for things without looking. I am at home in my car, because it’s the only space I really have where I can belt out songs as loud as I want.

As I page back through the places I have lived in my life, the one thing they all have in common was the sense of security I had while in them. It’s a feeling of safety, comfort, and familiarity.

Later on in my life, I will probably, once again, unlearn this.

But for now, humor me and let me believe that I’ve got it figured out.