Moved Out, Moved In

I was sad when I first heard that my family was moving, but I can't deny that I was kind of excited yesterday to come home to the new house. While it was once the home of my oldest friend, and it felt strange to turn onto her street and down her driveway instead of ours, as soon as I went up the stairs, I knew that this was now my family's home, too.

It's not just because of the same old position of the couch relative to the dining table, of my bed relative to the door, or of my mom's blue-and-white cabinet to the stairs, though these little details are kind of funny. My family didn't just transplant everything as-is, either. Old cabinets and shelves in new corners, an unfamiliar coffee table, and maybe the biggest change of all, my lola sharing a room with me, all pointed to one thing I realized before falling asleep in my (our) new room.

This is a good change. The new house somehow suits us. My family is growing older and mellower. Our habits are shifting. We are throwing or putting away things we no longer need. And the things we keep, from the broken elephant lampstand to my dad's penchant for funny dances, are for us to enjoy. We are still home.