At last, our time has come. The Dalzells are moving.
Our quest for a home to rent has ended successfully. We’ll be moving into our new digs at the beginning of November. The new house is just five miles or so down the road and will give us two more bedrooms than we currently have, an entire basement, a two-car garage, and even a play set in the backyard for the wee one. And, yes, it truly is located someplace within walking distance of lots of other places. I’m happy.
I will keep reminding myself of that happiness in the coming weeks as empty boxes proliferate, then get filled, then get moved, then get emptied. It’s a process that fills me with dread. I am not someone who necessarily handles change well. I may love to travel, but I love, love, love to have a nest to come home to. Even if I’m the one who decided to fly to a new nest, I’m likely to do a lot of extra flapping along the way. And a lot less sleeping. And a whole lot of fretting. And maybe, just maybe, a bit of snapping. (Hubby is already planning ways to take cover.)
But, I feel no need to apologize for getting emotional about changing homes. At its most basic level, a home is shelter, what keeps us safe, grounded, attached. It’s the place we most want to be when we’re tired or hungry. It’s private. It’s personal. If we’re lucky, it’s where we live with the people we love. A home provides the stage for the daily dramas that accumulate into the epic show we call our lives. Sure. There are lots of other places where we spend our time. But when someone asks you where you live, you don’t tell them about your office, school or bar.
For me, leaving this apartment will mean leaving behind some very happy scenes. Most of my pregnancy was spent within these four walls. This is where my son first slept through the night and where he took his first joyful steps. This is also the home where I struggled with loneliness for eight long months, waiting for hubby to return from his deployment. Not even three years have passed since we moved in, but there’s still a lot of history here.
As a military wife, I may well be destined to call many more homes, home. With each new house, I’ll build a new life for myself and for my family. No, wait. Not quite. My life won’t start over with each new home, but it will change. And change is that pesky heckler that I don’t like very much. But if you want to move, you have to accept change. The new house has yet to lift the curtain on our next act, but here’s hoping that the show – same cast, new backdrop — is a good one.