A friend once said to me, I wonder what happened in your childhood that made you want to leave.

I replied, I wonder what happened that made you want to stay.

In the winter of 2010, I was sixteen, living in Indiana, and surrounded by negativity. Unlike most of my friends at the time, I never felt connected to my hometown — I felt like a tourist in my own neighborhood. I jumped at every opportunity to wander, whether it was a family trip to upstate Pennsylvania, a drive to Chicago, or a walk down the street just to get out of the house. I loved the feeling of wandering and the subtle peace it brought to me.

I don’t quite remember how I found out about Pratt Institute’s summer program, I just remember fighting for it. For some reason, I felt drawn and attached to the city. I wanted, craved, needed experience in the form of a place, culture, chance. I knew I had to say goodbye to my childhood in Indiana and start my adulthood in Brooklyn.

And I did just that.

Carrying my life in the form of a suitcase, traveling at 70 miles an hour, speaking with a driver who didn’t understand me in a city that didn’t know me, I was intoxicated by the opportunity of experience.

My six weeks in New York taught me more about myself than my fifteen years in Indiana. I learned how independent I could be, how much I could handle and how much I could do. It was the first time I was thrown into an environment that I didn’t understand, where I was left to interpret it for myself. I loved my short time in Brooklyn, and it left me craving for more.

It also made me realize that home is where you make it.

For the lucky few, you are born into your home. You are raised in an environment that welcomes you entirely and accepts you unconditionally. Others of us, however, do not share this luxury. We’re left finding a physical place to call home through our intuition, through our five senses, through our emotions.

Sometimes, home peeks through subtle moments — a soft voice in a busy street in New York, the breeze of summer air in California, the colorful dresses in Brazil, the aroma of French cuisine, the reflective moments in Rome. Home could be found in the tiniest of moments, or in the most profound ways. It’s when you don’t feel unwanted, you feel welcomed, actually invited to these moments that you’re drawn to.

Later on, I decided to move to Phoenix, began my undergraduate at Arizona State University, and kept on the move. Whether I’m visiting my sister in Denver or visiting Southern California with my friends, I feel most comfortable when things are less permanent — and I know I’m not the only one who feels this way.

If you are like me, go. Get out of your country. Get out of your comfort zone. Nothing worries me more than seeing someone stay because of fear. In fact, it is the saddest human condition — security in familiarity, a loss of independent confidence.

So, to my friend who wonders why I wander, here’s what I should have said:

I made the decision to leave to find comfort from the unfamiliar. To make a home out of the small experiences, to share precious moments with total strangers.

I hope you do the same.