Yesterday afternoon I took a trip down memory lane. I was exhausted after hours of reading scientific articles and writing “Please. Please accept me.” emails. So the most logical solution to me was to go lay on my bed and enjoy some Kira-loving. Still not in the mood to return to my laptop I turned to my closet. After sorting my clothes into two heaps on my bed, I turned to the memory chest. My dad made for me when I was almost 8, back in the days he did a lot of woodwork.
I’ve kept some interesting stuff over the years, I’ve got a box full of notes that my friend Lauren and I passed back and forth during high school,
the pages we put on the wall at my grade 8 graduation detailing our past, present, and future selves,
a set of laminated pages my friend Meggie made for me at that same graduation,
and even a tiny mug from my 2nd birthday!
While I sat on the floor, sifting through my memories, my mom shouted from her office that I should go through the closet in there (it used to be my office) and requested that we get rid of most of the stuff in there. Including Bunny FooFoo. How dare she.
I love looking back in time, remembering the happiest moments of my life, the big moments. My mom wishes that I would just throw out some more stuff. I just want to hold on. Last week I talked about how the trip home was a trip back in time. And about how I’m a big kid now. So I guess I should start acting like one. But I can’t let go of my stake in the game as the baby.
I cling to my home. After first year my mom took over my office. My books, desk, and knick-knacks were all neatly packed into boxes and moved to the basement. I resisted that one big time. Why on earth I needed my office if I wasn’t even living here I don’t know exactly.
Then last year my mom started talking about moving my bed to make room for bunk beds for when my nephews came down. When they stayed for a week in the summer and I heard they stayed in my room I was a little sad. This room is still mine, but it’s slowly becoming less mine. It’s why I have resisted emptying my closets. I still leave stuff in the drawers and night stand, always putting off sorting through the assorted items to decide what I really would never use again and what I still needed to keep. What would eventually be moved out when I will no longer be potentially moving back in.
One day I will have to let go. One day, like my brother, I will stay in the “guest room.” I will be a guest. Still family, but one day this will not be my home. Which will probably be for the best. It’s a little confusing right now since I refer to both my home in Ottawa and my home in the Village as home. So I will say “I’m going home” both to refer to the trip from Ottawa to the Village and from the Village to Ottawa. It’s complicated and confusing. Like growing up I guess.
I’m in this awkward in between phase of life. Legally I am an adult. I can drink world-wide. I can vote. This summer I didn’t return home for the summer. I grocery shop and clean the house on Saturdays. During the week I attend lectures every day and meet with professors on a fairly routine basis. But I still like knowing that there’s that place that I can run to – that I still have a place that is home to the part of me that still is dependent on my parents. I cling to the part of me that is none of those things above.
I realize it makes me sound like I’m afraid of growing up, that I am trying to revert back to my childhood. Take it easy Freud.
I love adult me. I enjoy having my own space, a life outside the confines of my parents, being able to come and go as I please. I enjoy having a shiny credit card and all its responsibility. And adult me has much cooler clothes. Jeans and a t-shirt just don’t feel right anymore. Except that at home I lounge in sweats and a baggy sweater like it’s my day job. But I enjoy dressing and presenting myself like an adult that has her life in order and everything figured out. I pretty much gravitate towards “professional wear” now. What exactly that means I don’t quite know. All I know is it involves a lot of blouses and no jeans unless they are skinny and either very dark or coloured, and the occasional pair of booties. Which isn’t so bad.
So if I’m so enamoured with adult me, why am I so afraid to let go of the little kid version of me? There’s a lot of uncertainty in the world right now. In my world. Grad school next year must remain in my head as a maybe, which means I have to consider a number of back-up plans. Given the job market these days I would say half the people graduating this year are just as worried. The other half are going to go on to some form of graduate studies in the hopes that a higher up degree will guarantee them a job. I have no idea where I will be 5 to 10 years from now, and that’s both terrifying and exciting. So yeah, I’m going to cling a bit to the part of life I already had mostly figured out.
And I am going to straighten my blazer and continue on the path of awesome. Maybe eventually that path with lead somewhere with just a little more sleep.
Or at least better coffee.
And cool clothes.
And maybe a house with a pool!
Am I getting greedy now?
In all seriousness though – do you have a box at home you store mementos in or are you the I-don’t-need-it-so-I’ll-toss-it sort of person?
P.S. I think I triggered a trend around here – mom went through some of her drawers and found these:
I didn’t know there was a time when the Yankees couldn’t make fun of us for our toonies.