This morning, while I was in the spare bedroom of my parents’ house attempting to organize my things, I kept thinking about being home. I have really missed spending time with close family and friends in Reno, NV since I moved to California almost 3 years ago. Over the last 3 months, I have often stated that I was homesick. But this morning, I couldn’t escape the thought that I wanted to go home. I just kept milling over the idea of wanting to go home and I couldn’t really figure out where my home is. At the age of 31, my parents’ house no longer feels like home. I love Huntington Beach and my tiny apartment, and while I have a house full of my belongings, it doesn’t really feel like my home. As I realized that I don’t really have a home, I was kind of excited about the idea of being a nomad or a gypsy, an adventurer without a home. Yet, at the same time, I missed the simplicity of being a child, and knowing where my home was.During Thanksgiving break, my parents shared that they would be selling their home to become full-time RVers. I am so happy that my dad’s dream of traveling will finally be coming true. Their house is scheduled to go on the market this spring and I need to say goodbye to this house. I know that a house doesn’t make a home, but for some reason, I feel the need to let go of this house, this chapter of my life, and this notion of “home.”
I am excited for the future and the doors that will surely open as this door closes. I am faced with the fact that change is both inevitable and consistent. Despite its consistency, change can be scary. So, I’m holding on tight and getting ready for whatever comes next.
