Last month I left my home for the last time (after selling it to move two towns down the road). I’ve left many homes before but never quite like this.
It doesn’t take me long to emotionally invest in a place.
I’ve truly loved every place I’ve ever lived including the cinder block college dorms where a roommate was always an arm’s reach away or my windowless one-bedroom apartment across from a permanently-docked steamboat casino in Davenport, Iowa.
But this house, which I left perfectly broom swept with an encouraging note and every copy of our keys and garage door openers on the kitchen counter, was the first I ever owned.
We moved here within three months of getting married.
We’ve cut down trees, cut up downed trees, landscaped, painted, put up curtain rods, took down those curtain rods then put them up again the right way, and done all the little personal things you do to make a house your own.
This house’s siding was the first siding I ever sprayed with a power washer. The driveway was the first I ever used a snowblower on. The land was the first I ever mowed big enough to require a riding mower.
I’ve eaten food from its soil, destroyed bees nests and pests, trimmed bushes, pruned trees, and weed whacked like you wouldn’t believe.
Being a husband changes you. Being a homeowner changes you. Being a father changes you. I experienced all of those changes here.
This home is where I learned that I’d become a dad and then learned how to be a dad.
Selling it was strange; it felt like shedding an important part of my identity.
I also worried about how my 21-month-old daughter Senita would adjust. One of the last things I did in the old house was take a video of her pushing a Swiffer back and forth in the now-empty back living room where she had almost all of her tummy times and where she learned to walk.
I fantasized about synching the video to Madonna’s hit song from 1992, “This Used to Be My Playground,” while interspersing clips of Senita growing up in the house.
I quickly abandoned this fantasy after calculating how long it would take me to edit all the clips together but I’ll keep it in my back pocket in case I’m looking for a new project down the road.
The simple truth is that the house wasn’t a part of our identities. We only lived here because we needed a house with reasonable commutes for jobs we’ve both already left.
Our new home is slightly better for Jenny’s current job, though she’s been working from home since March.
We didn’t buy the new house for a commute though; we bought it to better suit the sort of life we want to lead: open, active, and welcoming (but with enough space for privacy). It’s a little bit flashy but a lotta bit homey.
It’s a perfect place to lay down roots.
Of course, any move involves an assumption of risk, even the ones we go into with open-armed enthusiasm. Taking place amid a national backdrop of economic uncertainty and housing insecurity makes it even riskier.
We’re not just leaving a home, we’re also leaving a community. We’ve essentially decided for our daughter that she’ll never have a life-long friend who isn’t related to her, though “friends since we were two” could come pretty darn close.
Still, I’d begun imagining her life growing up in our old town and I liked how it looked. Our new town has a similarly nice reputation but it is a leap of faith. I find myself wondering often if it was the right choice (and hoping that it was).
Connecticut is the weird sort of place where moving just a few miles in any direction can drastically change the trajectory of a public school student’s life for better or for worse.
It also keeps occurring to me that if I feel an undertone of sadness for a move that excites me, it must be excruciating for the millions (and millions) of families currently facing the prospect of bagging up their belongings unsure of where they’ll go next.
Housing insecurity is on the tipping point of becoming a humanitarian disaster. For now, our governments have stepped in on the local, state, and national level to keep the crisis at bay while they seek a workable solution.
Whatever that solution is, I hope it honors the emotional impact that widespread housing changes will have on our neighbors, their children, and our communities.
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