No place like Lexington

Be prepared to be jealous. I want to warn you because I'm about to tell you where I'm going for spring break. Now, I know that you're probably going to Cancun or Hawaii, or to Europe for "thesis research," but ... well, don't hate me. I'm going to a little town in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley called Lexington. What's so amazing about Lexington, you ask? It's home.

Now I know you're probably disappointed. I bet you thought I was going to say that I'm going on tour with the Rolling Stones or that I'm going to the moon or something else huge and ridiculous. But honestly, home is the one place in the world I really want to be right now.

You're probably thinking that I'm one of those chronically homesick freshmen who's too attached to mommy and daddy and the giant, baby-blue, polyester, stuffed dog she left on her bed, and that that's why I want to go home for break. And maybe there's some truth in that; I mean, I'm not denying that Doggy needs some lovin'.

But I'm not a complete infant who knows nothing of the world. I've grown up traveling, spending every summer in Poland visiting family and exploring Europe along the way. I can deal with being away from home; in fact, after a couple months in Lexington, I start going crazy and want to get out, to go to some exciting city where I can go to exhibitions and plays. But, at the end of the day, Lexington has always been my home, and I've always loved going back.

Whenever I enter my house through the back door for the first time after a long trip, I'm always struck by how refreshing it is. I usually can't smell my home's distinctive scent because I'm so used to it, but when I come in after a summer in Poland, or during a break from college, I can smell that clean, fresh, sunny scent, and it wakes me up.

Waking up isn't really why I'm going home, though. I'm also, honestly, going home for the opposite: sleep. It's the one thing that it's impossible to get enough of in college. At the end of the day, when you're ready to curl up in bed, you have to take a lot of extra steps. You have to gather up your toothpaste, your face wash and your contact lens solution. You have to take your room key with you as you carry your things up the stairs. When you're done in the bathroom, you have to go back to your room and put on your pajamas furtively so that your roommates don't see anything unnecessary. Only then can you crawl into bed. Finally, you're asleep ... until you have to get up and turn the alarm off because it will wake up your roommate.

At home, though, I can keep all of my bath supplies in one place ... in the bathroom. What a difference that makes! When I'm ready to go to bed, I can get in the bathtub, soak for a while, put on my pajamas quickly and go to sleep. And then in the morning ... no nasty alarm. Just sunlight. Birds singing.

Then, I can have whatever I want for breakfast. Not like here, where I'm at the mercy of the Mathey dining staff, who decide if I deserve some Cracklin' Oat Bran this morning. While I eat, I can look out the window and watch the cardinals and finches having their own breakfast at the birdfeeder. If I want to read while I eat, I can choose from all of my books, not just the two or three I brought to college but have never had the time to read.

When I get dressed after breakfast, I can wear whatever I want. Lots of my clothes are still in my home closet, and honestly, I miss them. There's this one gray shirt-dress I've really wanted to wear. There's a pair of turquoise ballet flats I didn't bring because they don't match much, but at home I can wear them whenever I want.

And once I put those shoes on, I can press them against the accelerator of my very own Volvo station wagon, a huge, gray tank of a car in which I like to play my music loudly on empty country roads. I can drive to my old high school and visit teachers, pass the movie theater where I had my first kiss or meet with friends in the restaurant where I turned 18.

I know you might be traveling to more exciting venues, beaches and clubs, and honestly, I hope you have a wonderful time in the Bahamas or wherever you're headed. In the meantime, though, I'll be perfectly content in my boring little hometown without a care in the world. Well, except for that paper.