I have moved several times but right now this feels different.
An emptiness crept in I haven’t felt before. We gradually moved things out of our home. The pictures were first. Then all the clothes which weren’t necessary for this time of year. Then furniture and suddenly it became empty. All which was left were nails on the wall which before held items and gave the house so much of a voice. Now we have turned the keys in, signed the papers, and it is no longer ours.
When I get stressed out I try to keep myself busy. I attempt to keep my mind occupied so I don’t wander off and let anxiety drown me. With moving there is always something to be done until there isn’t. It seems like a never-ending task to box up every drawer and move every piece of furniture but eventually everything does get moved. All which is left is nothing. I walked in our house when it was completely empty twice and tried to soak it in. I would like to say it was profound and moving but it wasn’t. It was like looking at an empty box which once held something special.
An empty house is strange. It looks much bigger and in complete contrast to the way it was before. Like an empty canvas it is ready for someone to put their touch on it and leave their mark. Our now former house was built in the late 60’s. Many have lived there before us and have made their own memories. Now we fit in this category. It’s a reminder of how insignificant our time can be. It’s hard to grasp our house is someone else’s now.
Owning a car, land, or a house, makes you feel power. It gives you the false feeling of domination. We don’t like to think about the fact nothing we own is permanent. We only hold it until someone else has it.
The majority of our belongings are now in a storage unit. I don’t feel like we have much stuff but when you pack a 10 x 20 storage unit with 8 foot ceilings and it still doesn’t hold everything you own you realize you do own too much. Why do I need all these t-shirts from college? Why do I have this mini keg with my fraternity letters on it? I can’t get rid of it. It seems as much a part of me as memories I cherish.
Moving moves people. How many songs, particularly country songs, are about homes? None of these songs are positive. It is a depressing trip down memory lane to listen to, “The House That Built Me” or any number of tunes. I’m not sad about moving. I’m trying to live in the moment and not overlook it but this isn’t my childhood home I left. Perhaps this is why I don’t feel the attachment to it.
I know everyone says a house doesn’t make a home. I’m not sure if I agree. As I stood there and took a moment to take it all in I thought about the good and the bad. There are memories we made in the house which I will always have with me. The house seems as integral to the memories as the people and the moments themselves. It’s just a man made house but no matter how much time passes it will always be more. Like packing there is always more to be done until there isn’t. Sometimes a house is just a house unless it isn’t.