The trees outside the Sacred Space at the Numen Lumen Pavilion are beginning to bud. I spend a lot of time there as a Truitt Center intern. This weekend, the Truitt Center hosted the Ripple Interfaith Conference, and each morning there was yoga in the Sacred Space. That’s when I noticed the buds on the trees. And I know it’s cliche, but they made me feel hopeful.
I’m almost done with my second year at Elon and I am still homesick. Some days I’m more aware of it than others. It’s strange, because sometimes Elon feels like my home, and other days I ache to be with my parents and sister at the dinner table. It’s a strange in-between space. I have two almost-homes.
After the conference finished and we finished talking about how relieved we were it went well, a spontaneous music session began in the Sacred Space. There were only a few people there, but it was a diverse group: chaplains, student workers, interns, friends. Accompanied by a piano, guitar and banjo, we sang together from a book of folk music.
It didn’t matter that some people didn’t know some of the songs; we sang anyway. It didn’t matter if some musicians messed up the chords; we kept singing. Nothing mattered but music. Not all the homework I had to catch up on after the conference, not that one person had a master’s degree in music theory and some of us hadn’t sung since middle school choir. We were together, sharing our voices, being vulnerable, not worrying about anything. And as something inside me simultaneously softened and began to bloom, I realized I felt at home.
I think we have to redefine family for ourselves sometimes, and realize that we can have different families in different places. I have my family at home, and I have my family at Elon. Having more than one family does not take away the importance of either. It does not divide the love or the sense of belonging. In fact, it multiplies it.