"It's a strange and wonderful experience, saying 'goodbye' to a building, a neighborhood, or a place we've called home. We hardly ever talk to these environments, yet they have such a tremendous place in our lives."
It is a crazy concept that many people do not fathom or comprehend, the existence of the building they reside in or the neighborhood they are currently living in. For most, it's just a temporary place where we’ll stay—"just for a year or so." But then we realize we’ve watched the corner store turn into a cafe, the pizzeria turn into a photo studio, or perhaps forgotten that there used to be a milk lady who would park her yogurt robot outside the apartment early on a Saturday morning. But through it all, have you ever stopped to think about where you’re living and the many places that led you here?
Now, for some, you may have been lucky enough to have had the same roof over your head for 18 years of your life, and for a rare few in the population—you resided there until graduating with that first (if not even second) university degree. You’ve been as much a part of the furniture in your room, if not even older than it, and if you were to go back home, it would be like stepping into a time capsule from your last saved checkpoint in life. It’s the sanctuary that your mother still cleans frequently, yet leaves everything exactly as you left it, hoping that you’ll return in the same condition you were in when you left it. Needless to say, we did not all have that life—some of us could not wait to get our high school diploma so that we could leave whatever small-town life behind. The trauma, the solitude, the boredom, the never-changing landscape, or whatever you came from that made you dream of leaving that neck of the woods. Whether it was to spread your wings, forge your path, seize opportunity, or simply outgrow whatever little town life could offer you—you took it, and now you’re here.
But where is "here" for each of us?
For me, I'm now looking at what will be my 41st place of residence that my little life has offered me across four continents, and trust me, it will not be my last. At first, it wasn’t by choice; then, it was for survival, until it became home... homes... and we're moving again, aren't we? For a while, it was just easier to live out of a suitcase; unpacking and repacking became less about comfort and more of a chore. Then, all of a sudden, I was at an age where I could choose where I wanted to live. This was surreal, then stressful, then exciting—until I had to pay my own bills or had forgotten to purchase things such as toilet paper. I learned to find good deals that made moving easier, as reselling became an option; I learned how to plumb and paint and fix what was broken. I learned to make a space my own.
Now, I know this is a niche experience shared by army kids, ministry kids, nomads, or kids in and out of the system, so before you say it—no, I'm not special. Haha. But I want to return to the statement I made at the beginning.
How often has the place you’ve lived in shaped you into the person you are today? If not for the streets, would you know how important the hustle for life is? Thanks to those amazing dinner parties and gala events, without which you might never have learned the knack for socializing and networking. Were it not for being alone in the dorms during Christmas break because there simply wasn’t money, would you have learned to celebrate special moments on your own? If you hadn’t lived on the right side of the tracks, would you have figured out which boundaries were worth crossing? And if it weren't for living on the wrong side of those tracks, would you have been motivated enough to move out?
I thank each building now as I move on and move out. I spend a moment at each doorpost and reflect on the lessons learned in each room. I take the time to mentally embrace the person I was on the day I moved in, while thanking myself for taking the opportunity to grow within these walls—through tears of pain, sorrow, and joy; through enduring missed birthdays and family gatherings; seeing my mother laugh as her grandchildren outgrow her; learning how to accept worry and the things I cannot control; knowing that my father may have forgotten me as dementia overcomes him, but man, he would be so proud of where I've come in my 32 years of life and the places I have yet to go.
The walls that embraced you at your lowest points and cradled you on all those lonely nights are the same ones that might slip from memory as you look out over the views from the next bigger and better prospects. Those walls are often so overlooked when you think about the person you are today. That safe space you called "home"—even for a brief stint on your journey—will someday be replaced, for better or worse. So appreciate it, grow in it, and hope that one day it will be worth even more to those who come after.
Take the time before you leave to give it that loving embrace. It did more for you than just housing your belongings.
Each move is a step closer to the person I’m still becoming, and each goodbye is a moment of gratitude for the journey itself.
