Moving Out

Written last night, the night before I move.  Please pardon the verbiage.

Over the past few weeks, I have slowly but surely been packing up my bedroom at home.  Tomorrow, 1 September, I'm moving out of my childhood home and moving into my first apartment with my fiance.  It started looking like I was serious about moving maybe a week or two ago.  At first, it was just the books on my shelves that made their way into boxes and into the corner of the dining room.  But then the closet started getting cleaned out and the wire cubes that functioned as bookshelves for me were broken down and packed away, leaving a lot of extra space.  My extra blankets were packed up and the clothes in my closet nestled into a suitcase.  The only things left to pack now are so minor that they will be thrown in on top of the contents of the already packed boxes.

Not from tonight.  The room is even emptier now.

It's weird though because I haven't felt sad about leaving like I thought I would.  I mean, this is a momentous occasion and a milestone to check off in my life.  I'm no longer going to b living with my parents (I can't mention my sister here because she's moving to college a handful of days after I move).  But I'm not feeling sad.  It's just kind of a thing in my life that is happening, although I'm an active part of it.  I did sign the lease, after all. My dad asked me if it felt weird to be permanently leaving home.  Even I was surprised when I said "Not really," or something to this tune.  It's not that I don't love my family or that I hate being home, because neither of those things are true.  But the feeling remains.

My apartment is close to home-- it's just a few minutes away from my University, and I've lived there before.  The distance is not new, just the way to get to my apartment is new.  But having to go a different direction isn't upsetting, or at least it shouldn't be.

So my only explanation for my indifferent feelings toward moving out is this: I'm ready.  I started being ready back in Amsterdam, the day my fiance proposed, although I might not have been fully aware at that point.  There were too many other things going on at once.  But by saying 'yes,' I was starting a new chapter in my life.  I'm engaged and if all goes well, we'll be married next year.  I'll have to find a real "big girl" job next year.  So in a way, life was saying "Yeah, time to get a move on (literally) whether you like it or not" and in a different way saying, "Yeah, I know," and taking life's hand and walking into the sunset together.

So while there are a number of things that need to be taken care of tomorrow, I know I'm ready and I know that it's time.  I'm not sad, but instead I'm excited for the things that lie ahead, even if I don't quite know what lies ahead.

I'm not sure just yet how much I'll miss my childhood room.  A lot has happened in here that went into my growing up, both good things and bad (although I won't talk about the bad here... it's not the time for that).  This is where I did most of my reading, this is where I did my homework.  This is where I sat on the floor and opened my high school graduation cards.  This is the room I lived in from the time I was six months to until now, at the "ripe age" of 21.  This is where my sister and I tried to co-habitate for a short period of time (it didn't work out).  This is the room where, when I was younger, I would sing myself to sleep just because I liked to sing and I loved Disney songs.  This is where I packed for my first trip to France and my semester in the Netherlands.  This is where I wrote my stories and began to grow as a writer.  This is where I stayed up and read Harry Potter long into the night even though I wasn't supposed to.

This has been a great room and I can't wait to see what my new place brings.  But only time will tell.

Thanks for Reading!

--Jude