Descriptive Essay About Home To Me

What does the term “home” mean? How does the idea “home” apply to the text you read?

When you hear the word home what’s the first thing that comes to mind? Is it the street you live on, your family, or the crisp warm smell you get as soon as you take your first step into your house. Everyone knows that home sent that gives you a feeling of relief after a long stress full day. Most people know the saying home is where the heart is. In this case my heart is the field house floor with 9 big blue mats right in the middle of it. As soon as you step foot into the gym you have your game face on and are ready to push your self past your limits and strive for more and better success. When you walk into the field house the first thing you notice is the rubbery smell coming from the ground mixed with all kinds of cleaning supplies as the forceful wind pushes through the doors when you take your first step into

For Olson, home does not have to be one place. Home is where she grew up and continues to grow. It is where she is fueled with inspiration and love; where her family and friends are; and where life is familiar.

My community of DeWitt, Iowa is a wonderful place and I am very thankful that I have been a part of such a close-knit group. A ‘home’ is a place in which you feel that you belong and

Home for me is where I feel the most comfortable. It might not necessarily be where I was born, and raised. Even though I do consider that one of my homes, New York City, which is where I am from. I also consider Hampshire my home because I feel very comfortably here and I have a community that supports me. That is what defines what home is in my sense, it is having a community and being comfortable.

Not many of us survived the unexpected disaster. Those of us who survived, including myself, were under the age of five, which made it impossible to question the situation and were mostly palmed off with dubiousness during that period. Twenty years had passed, and most of us had since moved with lives.

A sense of place can be defined and can be used in many different ways by various different people. To some, it is a characteristic that some places have and some do not, while to others it is a feeling or perception held by people and not by the place itself. It is often used in relation to those characteristics that make a place special or unique, as well as to those that adopt a sense of dependable human attachment and belonging. Homes are often regarded as a place where people get attached and build relationships with their homes. They are often where most feel a sense of place. It is why most regard

Home has an elastic definition that changes depending on the person. Home, to me, can be anywhere in the world as long as you are with the people you care about most. As toddlers may seek comfort with a stuffed animal or blanket, I find the comfort of home through my GoPro. A GoPro is a type of camera that is small, durable, and has a plethora of attachments. When the first version was released, I wanted one to capture the action footage of my life. Finally, I saved enough money to purchase one of my own. I bought the GoPro because I love spending time with my family and friends while taking part in thrilling and exciting experiences together. Spending moments, like those, with the people you love is what home is about. After receiving the GoPro, I was filled with excitement to be able to start capturing my adventures. Ultimately, wherever I am, I am likely to be found with the GoPro, for it provides me with comfort knowing I have the ability to capture the irreplaceable and priceless memories of the people I love.

of the word. Home for me is where I feel without care and is where I

What is home to me? Home to me is something that I cherish and its somewhere where my parents are all the time. When I was two was diagnosed with ALL which is a type of Leukemia. The doctors recommended me to go a camp during the summer to meet some kids that had the same condition as me. In return, one of my first homes away from my parents was a cancer summer camp in Eustis, Florida. My first year going there it was very fun and nerve-racking at the same time because I was never by myself without someone I knew being there right beside me the whole time. When I got to Camp all the counselors and staff were so welcoming to my mom and me, and telling me “welcome to your home away from home” I soon realized that after my mom left from going with me to my cabin and helping me unpack my things, it was going to be a really fun and enjoyable week.

I stood for a second and took a deep breath of fresh air. The crisp, untouched air flowed as I inhaled the new environment. Too much air began to drift towards me because I was the only one there. It seemed as if everything around me was empty yet, I knew there were others around. It was a surreal moment, nothing but my thoughts and my family populated the airport. As we slowly wandered to the car, the quiet and serene area engulfed us. We remained silent the entire journey to the car; we were too shocked about moving to Michigan to talk. Clear droplets slowly began to fall on the window pane. Each one becoming more and more aggressive and mesmerizing. The loop of the pitter-patter was all I could hear even though my parents were making small talk. In Mexico, I would watch all the people on the street, all the stores and billboard signs and tall buildings. My favorite thing to watch were the lights on a car when it was raining, but now no one would stay close enough to see their lights though the backseat window. My dad was excited that we had come “home”, but it wasn’t home anymore. It’s just where we had once lived and where my family was. People always say that your home is your family, but that’s just a cutesy fib they put on cooking shows to make you love your family. The smooth roads and empty streets, are not my home. They are this weird place that feels like a pile of dirt. It’s not very exciting or rare. You can look through it and find a few special gems, but

Pebbles fly as my Jeep takes a corner too fast, my body lurching to the left at the sudden force of the turn. I’m finally on Green, a quiet dirt road that stretches from Bennett Lake to Parshallville, a scenic detour I ride down that lets me clear my head. I’ve only lived in the area for two years, but those two years gave me something timeless--a home. My home isn’t some conventional house in the suburbs, although I did live in such a house, but it is the roads and the fields that webbed their way throughout and past my city, and the memories I make with others while on them. I glance at my sister Ken next to me; her right arm stretching lazily out of the window, the other scrolling the radio’s knob, attempting to find a worthy song to play. She’s only nineteen, with hair shorter and blonder than my own. Her presence soothes me, as if every pleasant memory we grew up making together was somehow brought back through each of her smiles. She is my closest friend; she not only provides the part of my home that allows me to be heard by someone who understands, but also the knowledge that we cherish the same home. I pull my attention away from her, watching the fields and houses quickly slip by. The few farmhouses we pass begin to fade until all that borders the road are giant trees, each tipping over us to create a canopy of leaves.

I live in the “middle of nowhere.” The neighbor-less neighborhood is where home is for half of the time as the other half I live in an ever-growing college city, Columbia. I have cultivated a special appreciation for each journey home through the winding Missouri back roads that bring me to the place where my soul rests, so matter how many times I make the drive. The roads may take me to my house, but my home exists far beyond its walls.

Everyone dreams about buying his or her dream house; I lost my dream house, twice. When my girlfriend Izzy and I began house searching, it was a whirlwind of excitement. This was our first hunt in the real estate market, and we were ready to close in on the perfect first house. Suddenly we were staying up into the late hours of the night, cuddled in bed, endlessly searching for houses on Zillow. Throw pillows, dishes and pictures began to jump off the shelves at us in every store we entered. We anxiously imagined every aspect of what we wanted in our house. The rush of chasing down the ideal house and making it our home was thrilling, yet short lived.

Home is the place where we are born and live. It is the sweetest place in the world. When we sense danger elsewhere we find safety in our home. When there is joy, we share it with other members of our home. Everybody loves home. For this reason are English poet has written: