Saying Good Bye to My First Home

I moved out of my first home after two and a half years and it caused me a lot of emotional distress. This home represented peace, hard work, joy, sadness, anxiety, happiness, silliness, and above all it represented the first place that was truly and fully mine. It was the space where I spent every Friday night sleeping on the couch, the space where I did countless 500 piece puzzles, where friends would come visit and just relax, where I tried (and failed) to cook, where I had full unilateral control over every detail to make it mine. 

To me this home also represented a chapter and time of my life that I knew I would never get back. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but bittersweet because it represented so much and was the anchor of such a happy period of my adult life. After gaining this experience I feel so fortunate and grateful for this time in my life and will always look back at it fondly.

I knew it would be hard to leave and move to a new space that I would have to share but I never expected to be crying in the bathroom hiding from the poor movers who didn’t sign up to comfort me. So here’s to Filbert Street, thank you for forcing me to grow up, thank you for being exactly what I needed you to be when I needed it, and thank you for the memories. I’ll miss you.

Maybe this is another lesson of adulthood, life moves on, circumstances change, and the things that we are surrounded by will rarely remain the same. As life keeps moving and morphing (unfortunately) we have to do the same.