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.