I’m currently working on packing up my childhood bedroom. I’m surprised at how much of the stuff in here is actually mine. I moved out in 2002, back in 2003 for the last year of school, then out again in 2004 for grad school. I was unofficially back in 2008 (using it as a home base when I was working in town instead of living in a hotel or corporate apartment, my company liked the fact they were saving loads in expenses too), dumped all my stuff off in 2009 on my way to Africa, then officially back here in the beginning of 2010. The stuff I’d been carting around the country since 2002 has been in boxes in the basement for the last two years. For some reason I thought that most of the stuff in my room belonged to other members of the family. I was wrong. It’s mine. I’ve been working on purging for the last year, but there is still a lot of stuff. Granted, when looking at how I’ve labelled all the boxes, most of them are full of books. I guess I can’t complain too much; I love books. I was excited about moving into the city and officially getting a library card (I’ve been living outside city limits for the last while, thus my taxes, or rather my parents taxes go to the county, not the city, thereby prohibiting us from qualifying for a library card without a huge fee (although probably substantially less than what we spend on book purchases, but that is another story altogether). I’ve discovered so many books I want to read or re-read. Guess no library card is necessary for now, except for free movies and music. 🙂

I struggled for a long time about condo versus townhouse versus house versus staying indefinitely at my parents’. Obviously, since I’m packing, I elected for moving out. It’s tough to explain, but I just need to. Ignoring the fact that I’m almost 30, am longing for the freedom I once had when living on the other side of the country, and the possibility of having friends over for dinner, there really is no legitimate reason I need to move out. I have a wonderful, loving family that I get a long with. I have a bedroom that is bigger than most apartments in New York or Paris, and live on a beautiful acreage. But there is just something telling me it is what I need to do to move along in my life’s journey. I still feel a little guilty. I feel this move is so selfish. I’m not moving far, only 15 minutes away, but I feel like I’m walking out on my family. Like I’ve decided living with them is not good enough for me anymore. But it is. I just need something a little different right now.

And I guess I should get back to packing …


Forgotten, but now remembered.

Tonight I discovered a wonderful, new (to me) blog which has reminded me of things I’ve forgotten. I’m moving into a new home in a few weeks, the first home I will ever own. The possession date is three years after my “liberation date”, the date I walked away from a destructive un-marriage (it wandered so far from a marriage, I sometimes struggle to use the word marriage), moved into a cute little apartment and started to try and renew myself. I keep thinking about how in the last three years, I got out of [enormous] debt (thanks to the ex-), how I managed to travel the world and fulfill some dreams, how I changed not only jobs, but careers and am thriving, how I have regained my self-respect, and confidence, how I met an amazing man who I love to pieces and who brings an amazing smile to my face, and how I have finally saved enough money, found the perfect house, in the perfect location, for the perfect price.

Reading Alece’s narrative, her journey from broken to whole, reminded me just how much I relied on a faith in Christ / love / hope to get me through my own journey. I know that I often express my discomfort and disagreement with aspects of my religion. But when it comes down to it, the faith and associated principles which are the fundamental part of any religion provides a very true source of “grounding”. While it may not play a consciously predominate part in my daily life, it is what gets me from point A to B. I try and take credit for all the progress I’ve made, but I know it’s not just me. While I know I haven’t given enough time or respect to the things that matter the most, I know my solid testimony that I nurtured so early on in my life still exists, and that it still buoys me, even if I’m not actively feeding. It laid the foundation for strength, reslience, perserverance and just a hope for a future. I think it might be getting hungry though. I find myself turning to Christian bloggers of the female-20-something-type, reading their words, feeling them not only speaking to me, but stirring things deep within me. It’s not so much the religion that I’m attracted to, but their hope and faith for a brighter future. If that comes from a basis of religion, then I’m fine with that. After all, I do share that heritage.

I remember now where my strength through the 12 months of disintegrating marriage came from. I can’t forget that. Well, that, and really, really great friends, chocolate and yoga.