Moving: The Emotions Edition

My parents built their own home back in the 60's, and they remain there to this day. The house has undergone some transformation along the way, starting in the late 70's when some baby showed up unexpectedly, requiring the addition of a bedroom, and again in the 80's whey they added "the new room" onto the back of it. Everyone still calls it "the new room," by the way.

Once, when I was in high school, I remember Mom talking about a house in Greentown that she liked, and I don't remember if it was officially for sale or not, but my hopes soared that we would move. Nothing seemed grander to me than a move and a fresh start. I mentally imagined a moving day and what it would be like to live in town within walking distance of my friends. As paragraph one's spoiler alert may have told you, that never happened. And I still think of it every time I drive past that house. The house I never got to live in.

So my first chance to "move" was when I went to college and lived in a dorm. For four years, I "moved" regularly, in and out of dorm rooms and apartments, and while I can assure you we hauled more than any college student ever should, it still wasn't a true move. It was just a heavy vacation load.

After college, and before I could move into this house where I've been ever since, I spent three months living in an apartment with college friends. I never unpacked most of my clothes from the suitcase, and I slept on a trundle bed. I felt more like a guest than a roommate, and from there, I came to Bekahland-now-Shafferland, where I've been ever since.

Moving STILL seems like an adventure to me, and I am eager beyond words for the day to arrive. {We still don't have that day nailed down.}

Ryan told me the other day that he wondered if the reality of leaving my first real grown-up home and the first place we ever lived as a married couple would settle over me and begin to hurt. If I would find myself overwhelmed and saddened by what I'm leaving behind.

I'm not sure. It might come. This house, after all, has such a rich history for our family, dating back to the years my grandparents lived here. And I've done a LOT of growing up in these walls. So yes, the day might come when I have a little meltdown because I'm leaving my roots. And if that day does come, I will allow myself that grief and all the tears it brings and be okay with it.

On the flip side, I am incredibly excited for this move. I'm excited for the chance to make a new home with Ryan, one that has always only been ours together. One we can make decisions about together. I'm excited to sort through every possession and find it a home and purge the things we don't need. {And I'm relieved I started that process LAST year, so it's a million times easier now.}

But even more than excitement over the house, I'm excited for new routines. Our day will look really different without a commute in it. I don't know what it will look like, exactly, but it will look different, and I celebrate that.

And honestly, I don't know the town all that well. I have so much to learn. Street names will be a fine start, but everything will be new: new grocery store, new coffee shop, new running spots, new everything. I'm excited to uncover those delights and embrace them as my own. That was something I didn't do here in my current town until I was almost gone from it and realized I never got to know it. I don't want to make that mistake again.

So the emotions these days are running high in a good way. Excitement for our future. Joy in this journey. We still have no updates for you on our own home, and that has been one part of the journey that remains hard. I had more than a few meltdowns over it last week, but I'm choosing to trust in the moments when it seems bleak. {And there are a lot of those moments.} Faith is a whole lot more about grit than feelings!