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 …Follow @genthoughts