I laid there. Taking it all in. A half empty closet. Cleared out dressers. Dust bunnies strewn across the floor. One corner with a TV and Nintendo Switch sitting up on the shelf. There wasn’t much else left to this room. Most of its contents were already removed and transported across the river to my new residence. Now, I sat there with my bare essentials.
I grew up in one home between the ages of four and nineteen. Fifteen years in a childhood home is almost unheard of nowadays, but I got to live that dream. In 2009 though, that dream evolved into a nightmare. My home caught fire, leaving behind its shell and a family in shambles. The event thrusted me into independence, as I could not rely on my parents for a steady residence due to their financial issues. Instead, I got creative with my living situation. I obtained on-campus housing through college and found jobs during the offseason that provided housing. I looked into cheap apartments with roommates in less than ideal areas.
This went on for six years until I moved in with a friend of mine in 2015. I imagined I would be there for a year or two to get my finances in order before going out on my own. I kept a lot of my belongings in boxes and pressed onward in my career. Little did I know that I would take up shop here for the next eight years.
It was my second longest stint in one location.
My friend bought a Golden Retriever pup about two months after I moved in. That dog basically became mine as well, or at least how it felt. I established myself and built my career up while living here. I enmeshed myself with the local community, quickly turning into a regular at many hot spots.
Leaving it all behind is definitely bittersweet, and I am taking a big leap by moving in with my significant other in a whole new town. I am excited, but nervous. It’s never easy to leave a place you call home.
-The Caring Counselor