My parents are moving today. And I’m kinda sad about it. I don’t like the idea of other people living in their house. It feels upsetting and wrong.
Which is weird, because I haven’t lived with them for over 20 years. And they’ve only had this house about 3 years.
So what’s that all about, I wonder?
Maybe I just like the house. It’s smallish and comfortable. I feel peaceful there. I’ve enjoyed the times I spent there.
My parents are moving on to bigger and better, and I’m sure the new house is really great. But all I keep thinking is I’ll never stand in that backyard again, I’ll never sit on that porch again, I’ll never sleep in that room again…
I’ll never again look on that one small piece of the world.
As I’m writing this, I’m realizing the truth that this is about me and not the house.
I have an uneasy relationship with change. Occasionally I have embraced it, but mostly I just keep a nice safe distance.
But for three years I’ve been trying to close that gap. With little success.
Finally I’m making some strides. Finally I’m, if not embracing change, at least giving it a side hug.
Instead of saying, “this is what I want and here is how I can get it,” I’m forcing a change in my thought and behavior vocabulary.
“This is what I want and here is how I will get it.”
It’s not easy.
Because that “will” is a mighty filled-up word. Inside those four little letters is sacrifice and sweat, pain, deprivation, commitment, persistence, self-control…lots of hard, hard things.
I am moving on to bigger and better places in my life. And yet some part of me is melancholy, and a little scared about what changes I’m moving on to.
And lamenting the loss of this small and comfortable existence I already know so well.