Adrienne Butler ’27

Places I’ve Belonged

Realtor.com is not a website you typically find a child scrolling on, but it’s where you could often find my ten-year-old self exploring. I would spend hours examining million-dollar homes in California, penthouses in New York City, farms in Tennessee, and small apartments in France. Looking up from the screen, I’d see the walls of my Michigan home, accessorized with family portraits and burgundy curtains that had outlined the living room windows for as long as I could remember. This would bring my daydreaming to a halt and force me to face reality again. The ambition that consumed me made my hometown feel suffocating and the entire state of Michigan feel only the size of a small box drawn around me.

I used to look out of my bedroom window and think of the day I’d see a city skyline instead of the Kroger parking lot. At the age of fifteen I got what I had been wishing for; an escape, an opportunity out. An acceptance into a Philadelphia ballet boarding school resulted in me leaving my home and my family before I could legally drive. I was of course excited about the school’s prestigious program and the opportunities that would now be presented to assist me in furthering my career; but deep down I was most excited about the independence that was being granted to me, and most proud of my success in escaping my hometown and starting a new life. How funny that I prided myself on independence, the lack of needing others, while searching for a place to belong.

I fondly look back on Philly and all that city offered me. I would kill time during the weekends sitting with friends on benches at Rittenhouse Square, eating gelato while walking through the Italian Market, and window shopping on the streets of Center City. For a year, that was my home and for that year, it was where I belonged.

As the school year came to a close, I had a high school diploma at sixteen-years-old. I packed bags again, itching to know where I would be heading next. I spent the beginning of that summer in Pittsburgh and the rest of it in the Austin heat. June in Pittsburgh included doing pirouettes in large studios, shopping at thrift stores and bookstores, walking through the parks of the city, and convincing myself I liked boba tea (I don’t). The remaining summer months, spent in Austin, involved cannonballing into the local springs, trying to find relief from the southern temperature, which my northern self found unbearable.

Eventually my summer adventures came to a close and the air began to cool. The fall breeze carried me back to Pittsburgh, and my first apartment.  My roommate, now one of my best friends, and I, called that apartment home for two years.

An abundance of love fills my heart when thinking of the white house with the bright red door on Emerson Street. I repeatedly found myself and lost myself in the third apartment unit of that house. I entered adulthood and spent more time than I can calculate laughing and crying with dear friends in between those walls. Despite knowing by my second year in Pittsburgh that it was time for me to go, I am so grateful for that Pittsburgh home of mine, the one I entered as a teenager and left as an adult. Though I know I no longer belong there, for a short time, I did.  

I find the places I’ve been to be like the clothes in my closet. I see a shirt among many others on a store’s clothing rack. I head to the nearest dressing room to try it on. I love it! The color is lively, the neckline is flattering. It’s my favorite shirt for the first few months that I have it; it’s new, it’s exciting. After some time, the color is dull and the neckline doesn’t compliment my chest. I tell myself my style is changing. The shirt fades to the back of my closet. I buy a new shirt. Rinse and repeat.

I have once again changed my address, this time to a college in New York. While being here, I’ve been asked ‘Where are you from?’ more times than I can count. I always answer with my home state of Michigan, but I feel my answer is more complex than that. Yes, I am from Michigan, but everywhere else I’ve been since has played a part in shaping me into who I am now.

I believe a person’s home and feeling of belonging evolves along with the person. Despite my hometown never truly feeling right, at one point it was the only option I had to call home. Now, after several years of being separated, whenever I return to my childhood bedroom and look out to see the Kroger parking lot, the place still doesn’t seem to fit. If my hometown isn’t my home, what is? Is it the city of Philly, my apartment in Pittsburgh, or my new dorm in New York? Will I ever find a place whose color never dulls?

For now, I don’t worry about finding the perfect place where I feel I completely belong. All I can do is trust that where I am is where I belong at that point in time.