Flying Away from the Nest: Time to Break Free

When I was a little girl, I remember being best friends with my parents. Just us three. Always. Every weekend, we would all entertain ourselves at the flea market on Saturdays, see movies, and do a chant I created called "Family" where my mother, my father, and I would bring our arms in and on the count of 3, we'd shout "Family!" after our huddle. The good times. Needless to say, that was so long ago. I have experienced the growing pains of my life, of course aided with their support. But I recently pondered the idea that I am no longer that little girl they once saw, innocent eyes watching their every move to mock. I am my own person, my own being with my own individual opinions and thoughts and ideas on situations. The love I have for them is not diminished because of this realization. In fact, I could even say it is stronger, despite the fact that we are very different now.  Life has taught me its own things. They are not influenced by them any longer.  Sure, the respect for them is eternal but I have decided how important it is to break free from the nest that I came from. Doing so will make me a woman that follows her own passions, interests, dreams, and aspirations.

Looking back, I think- I know- my parents would always be the greatest heroes in my life. They did, after all, make me. Most importantly, they laid a foundation for me to build myself further. I am my own wonderful, extraordinary, and unique human being. I have learned in one single year how my mistakes have defined me, regardless of the constant nagging I received from my parents. I don't regret one mistake. Because although we're a mold of our parents, we have the freedom to be who we were made to be.

I have replayed my father's voice message twice now. "Savannah, you've disappointed me." Three stinging words. I had the courage to erase it. I had the courage to realize that no, I did not disappoint him. In actuality, he disappointed himself. I cannot be the perfect example of what he wants me to be. I cannot live up to stringent expectations. I am me. Savannah, one of a kind. A woman after God's own heart. I am sorry I am not what my father wants me to be. Actually, I take that back. I'm not sorry. Sooner or later, you've got to spread those wings you've been preparing all your life for that special flight into adulthood.

It is finally my time to fly away now.

Adulthood: A Transformation

As I sit here in my room surrounded with boxes and bins, I can't help but think about all the memories I'll leave behind. The home that is now sold was the home where I grew up and found myself. It was the home I came to in despair when I lost a friend or bombed a test or when I felt inadequate. It was the home that greeted me with loving, welcoming arms informing me that everything will be all right in due time. It was the home I overcame puberty in! It is the same home that was present during the hard times in my life. Those times where I'd scream into a pillow to overcome the pain I felt when I refused to eat. The walls heard. Those times where I danced to the latest contemporary music to fit in. The mirrors saw (and probably laughed). My home also saw me cry during the times where I thought my parents were going to divorce. It sympathized. It listened. It was there for me. It's funny to give a home a soul but in some weird, personified way, my home did have a soul. And it will still have one when another family moves in and make it their own.

I know packing will be difficult. Knowing me, I'll probably cry peeling away the layers that made our home so special and...completely ours. I'll never forget how it affected me, nor ever erase the scenes that were played inside. That's the hard part, isn't it? Having to move on while keeping the memories alive only in your head. I worry those memories might one day become weary and vague, that I'll forget how much maturing I achieved in one home. Childhood to adolescence to adulthood...in one setting. How precious is that? And I'll try not to ever forget for as long as I live.

They say that home is where the heart is. I'm fighting with myself on that one. How can home be where the heart is, even if you left that home that was so dear to you? How is that so when all the memories were made  there? The truth of the matter is that although that home may have served to be a location where you lived out the scenes of your life, it was a shell, a temporary confinement where memories could be relived and long remembered. Or I'm trying to make myself believe that, that is. One thing is for certain. Every home I've lived in has been difficult to leave because we indeed did make it our home, our haven of sorts. A place where I could walk in my underwear and not care; a place where I would rehearse my characters' lines aloud, living in a fantasy world; a place where love was possible, where acceptance thrived; a place where I knew certainty devoured doubt to the brim; where imagination brought me to new ideas; where inspiration motivated me to action; a place where I could be me. My home.

I guess this one is the hardest to let go, for many reasons. I'll never forget how much of a woman I became in 9 long yet short years. Looking back 10, 15, 30 years from now, I know those memories will still be crisp in my mind. That's what is assuring me. I can do this.

I saw our new place today. Examining the empty walls and imagining our furniture inside, I couldn't quite yet see home. And I guess that will come. New memories will have to be created, new stages will emerge, new hardships will have to be faced along will successes. It's not there yet nor will it be for a while. But it will come. "Home is where the heart is"- yes. Home was. And it will be. In time.

For now, #19 will forever be in my heart and memory and soul. Home is where the heart is. Certainly.

Listen to Lincoln.

I'm sure we'd love to eradicate all the flaws we possess. Whether it be our relationships, ability to succeed, weight management, or our efforts to leave a legacy, sometimes we're overwhelmed with self-inflicted barriers that prevent us from accepting ourselves. Well, stop. You are beautifully made and flawed to perfection. What? Yes. You heard me. You were perfected flawed to be a perfect you. Out of the dust of the earth, every flaw makes us the individual we are. Embrace you. Celebrate you. Love you. You came with a price. Every imperfection adds to the uniqueness only you possess. Exhale failure. Breath in the incredible person you, and only you, are.