If you have ever moved, you know exactly what I am about to describe. If you have never moved, I stand amazed - I can not fathom existing in the same house all my life. Moving has always been a part of my landscape. I moved five times in my life, pre-marriage. I have moved nine times since the nuptials. I have it down to an art.
There is something almost sacred about walking through your old house once you've cleared it out, touched up the last nail hole, scrubbed the last scuff clean. The resounding clack of heel on wooden floor, echoing against the emptiness as you move from room to room, externally to 'double-check' that you didn't miss anything. Internally, breathing in all of the memories and things you will miss about the place.
It can be overwhelming. To stand in the doorway of a room, and 'see' the living that took place there, like a ghosted scene - a child piled up on a bed with their books, the nightly routine of homework at the table that was 'right there'. The place where you stood when you got 'the news'. Each room its own collection of events, big and small, sounds and scenes, a painting of a life, always in progress.
We move for many different reasons: relocation of jobs, needing to be near family, upsizing, downsizing, lifestyle changes, new starts. We can outgrow a space that no longer suits our life or needs. We find that we can get by with much less so we clear out and de-clutter, and start a new place with more simplicity.
This is a bit like how I feel about this blog. I have been terribly negligent in getting here regularly, and it started to become a trite collection of small lists, a 'diary' of my days, of sorts. Most days I just don't have anything of inspiration to bring, or the time to do anything with any intentionality at all. Recently, I came by here. I noted that Russia had started making its regular 'visits' (that's when you know you are a blog nearly abandoned). For some reason, I felt compelled to comb back through all the posts - those up for all to see, and the ones left or moved to draft, for various reasons. It was then that I was reminded of the experience of walking through an empty house - one bursting with reminiscence but at the same time, no longer feels like your own.
Nothing has changed about this place, much like a house, newly vacated. The structure is the same. The flaws and quirks remain. What often changes is the life within, the people or circumstances that once abided there, as it is with this place. Right now, I simply stand in this doorway, looking back, breathing it all in.
