They say that ‘home is where the heart is’; but what do you do when your heart has been taken from your home?
This week I moved out of the home I spend my teenage years growing up in. My parents have built a new, and gorgeous, log home, out in the country and since I live with them, I’m moving there too. Now, even though this new house is only 20 min away from the old one, it might as well be a different continent to me. I love my house. I knew every creak in the floor, the way the walls curved, how the old wood felt. I did so much growing up there and have so many memories, good and bad, from over the years.
And now I’m moving to a new house. A house that’s foreign to me. A house that has no memories or familiarity. A house I don’t even have a bedroom in yet. I’m far away from my jobs and my friends and part of me would rather have paid the rent for an apartment I couldn’t really afford. So what’s a girl to do?
Make do, of course. As I always do. But will my heart ever make this new house my home? I’m not entirely sure. A small, stubborn part of me hopes not….so I don’t get too comfortable in this new house; so when I do get back on my feet and move on to the next chapter of my life I don’t have to feel sad about leaving again. Another part of me wants to love this house though. It’s where my parents are. It’s where we will be making new memories and celebrating holidays together.
So, time will tell. And until then I will be unpacking and trying to make things work; hoping I can at least find a way to feel good about living in this new house.