I'm writing this post from my childhood bedroom in Portland. There's still a giant moon lamp from Ikea on the wall and framed pictures of me and my friends from middle school and high school. There is also now a baby sleeping in a crib at the foot of the bed, and a dresser drawer filled with my husband's clothes.
I used to feel strange coming home, and seeing all the places I had made memories with people no longer in my life. Being here felt heavy and I couldn't shake the pervasive feeling of loss and regret. The constant rain and drizzly weather didn't help. As years have passed that feeling has transformed, and I've learned to love coming home again. The memories just remind me of the changes that have forced me to pivot, and to break free, and to grow.
Slowly new memories take up more and more space in my heart. There was Curtis' first trip to Portland with me, not knowing yet that it would be the first of many. There's the daily expectation of my sister's dog bursting into my bedroom in the morning, demanding belly rubs. And just yesterday, I walked into my mom's sewing room to find Holly happily being measured for a new bespoke outfit. Our family has grown so much over the past ten years, and each person (and animal) has added so much joy to the fold.
I feel incredibly fortunate to be able to have a place to come home to, that this house is still ours and that I am welcomed here anytime I want to show up. The older I get the more I appreciate what a beautiful and precious gem it is. My mom has poured so much care and attention into this house, just as she has poured into my sister and me. She inadvertently reminds me that this is not my home anymore though, when she tells me where the towels are and how to get to the store, as if I have never been here. I don't mind it really, because it's true. This is not my home anymore. It's been over ten years since I lived here. But it is the house that built me (to steal the words of Miranda Lambert), and for that I am immensely grateful.
This new year we will begin a new story in a new home of our own. We are in the middle of buying a house. It is small and humble, nothing close to the home I grew up in, but it's wonderful to know we'll have a place to call our own. It will take time and work to transform it into something special, but that's true of anything worthwhile, as my mom has taught me.
Whether you are "home" for the holidays, at your actual home, or traveling today, I wish you a very happy new year. May you also have the opportunity to put time and work into creating a special place of your own, physical or otherwise, and to fill that space with love and good memories.
I used to feel strange coming home, and seeing all the places I had made memories with people no longer in my life. Being here felt heavy and I couldn't shake the pervasive feeling of loss and regret. The constant rain and drizzly weather didn't help. As years have passed that feeling has transformed, and I've learned to love coming home again. The memories just remind me of the changes that have forced me to pivot, and to break free, and to grow.
Slowly new memories take up more and more space in my heart. There was Curtis' first trip to Portland with me, not knowing yet that it would be the first of many. There's the daily expectation of my sister's dog bursting into my bedroom in the morning, demanding belly rubs. And just yesterday, I walked into my mom's sewing room to find Holly happily being measured for a new bespoke outfit. Our family has grown so much over the past ten years, and each person (and animal) has added so much joy to the fold.
I feel incredibly fortunate to be able to have a place to come home to, that this house is still ours and that I am welcomed here anytime I want to show up. The older I get the more I appreciate what a beautiful and precious gem it is. My mom has poured so much care and attention into this house, just as she has poured into my sister and me. She inadvertently reminds me that this is not my home anymore though, when she tells me where the towels are and how to get to the store, as if I have never been here. I don't mind it really, because it's true. This is not my home anymore. It's been over ten years since I lived here. But it is the house that built me (to steal the words of Miranda Lambert), and for that I am immensely grateful.
This new year we will begin a new story in a new home of our own. We are in the middle of buying a house. It is small and humble, nothing close to the home I grew up in, but it's wonderful to know we'll have a place to call our own. It will take time and work to transform it into something special, but that's true of anything worthwhile, as my mom has taught me.
Whether you are "home" for the holidays, at your actual home, or traveling today, I wish you a very happy new year. May you also have the opportunity to put time and work into creating a special place of your own, physical or otherwise, and to fill that space with love and good memories.
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