The Leave-Taking

Yesterday, I left the house where I grew up. It is a beautiful structure, the original part was built in the 1810s, and its subsequent owners added bits and pieces on until the present day, where it is comprised of an older section and a new addition put on prior to our purchase of the house. The previous owner knew Stephen King, who alluded to our house in Salem's Lot. It sits oddly on the property, incredibly close to the road and the side of house faces the road, so that you see the entire length of the house as you drive up the bumpy dirt road (SO dusty in the summer).

It was an odd mixture of emotion because I did not feel sadness that I expected to feel. Indifference and almost a kind of relief welled up within me. I became more concerned that I was not concerned about leaving this house, the place where I have lived the longest. We moved to Maine when I was eight and now I am 22 years old. Such a stark contrast. I feel so different now as compared to when I was in the third grade, beyond the obvious age discrepancy.

In many ways, now I feel the best that I have ever felt, strong, confident, and comfortable with who I am. For many years, living in the country was wonderful. I loved the solitude, the pure, natural stillness that filled my soul. When I want away to college, I didn't want to leave this serenity. And now, I find myself discontent with the continuous stillness that pervades that place in the Maine woods. I love the excitement and verve of the city...I crave it lately. Finally, I am enjoying the social scene, meeting new people and experiencing the city life. Such is the natural progression of my very human life.