Backpack? Check. Peanut butter crackers? Check. Juice box? Check. I was set. I snuck downstairs swiftly, I hear mom in the kitchen. I had to be careful this time. I opened the door and snuck out. As I ran down the driveway I could feel the wind in my hair, I was free. Sprinting across the street to Mrs. Moore’s swing set, I didn’t even look before I crossed the street, I didn’t have to anymore, I was a free girl. This was not the first time I had run away from home, in fact, it wasn’t even the second, it was more like the fifth or sixth. Yet every time, the feeling never failed, I was free. That same feeling carried over to the first time I spent the night at a friend’s house, the first time I got behind the wheel of a car, and the first time I moved out of my room at home and into my first dorm room. Since I was little, I have always longed for freedom. In elementary school, freedom was Mrs. Moore’s swing set. In middle school, freedom didn’t exist. Then high school, I got my chance and went to boarding school. Boarding school was something I had only dreamed of, living away from home, on my own. It was also something I had to earn, and I worked hard to make it to Culver. It was a shock when all I could do was cry for the first couple weeks of school; I was ready to do anything to go home. Of course, I settled into the routine, and learned to love school. Being on my own helped me grow up and become a person I am proud to be, but it also helped me realized how much I care about the family and home I left behind. Now while looking at colleges; I know that I never want to move this far away from my family again. Ironically, the only thing I’m running towards now is the very thing I ran from: home.