More than 40 million Americans move every year. Whether it’s down the street or across the world, people’s homes change every day. Personally, I’ve moved back and forth from house to apartment six times over the last four years. No matter what the outside looks like or how long you’ve lived there, home is a place where you feel comfortable, where you create the best memories, and where you’re surround by your loved ones and things. After a long day, most find themselves saying, “Can I go home now?” Home means a cozy bed with freshly washed sheets that hold your body and relax your mind as you drift into a state of peace. It’s a warm cup of coffee in the morning or a calming bubble bath late at night. When I’m home I like to wear my most comfortable pajamas, tie up my hair, and take off all my makeup. I can do as I please without having to be cautious of my surroundings or worry about who might be watching me. Years ago when I lived with my dad, I’d come home from school and take a nap, only to wake up to the smell of my step mom’s dinner. As I walked into the kitchen with my eyes still half closed, all 3 of my little brothers teased me about my bed head and wrinkled shirt, but that was what I was comfortable with and that’s the way I liked it. It wouldn’t have been home any other way. Now, as I’m about to head off to college, my idea of home has changed drastically. I live in a one bedroom apartment with my mom, but that’s okay too. I’ve learned that houses are bought and sold but a home stays with you wherever you go. Some of my best memories are in the house I grew up in. Although I didn’t spend my entire childhood there, it was the house with the too small of a bathroom that my mom drug me into every night to wash my hair. It was the house with the long hallway that I ran across to get to my sister’s room where we took turns rubbing each other’s backs before we fell asleep. Home is me running across the soccer field at eight years old scoring goals and creating lifelong friends. It’s shoving orange slices into my mouth and slurping down juice boxes after winning a tournament. Some of my best memories were made in an apartment I called “home” for less than six months, memories of me sitting on the edge of my mom’s bed talking for so long she had to literally kick me out because she