I’m Legal Now!

It is officially official. Although it reminds me of when you change your name after you get married, months (or sometimes years) later you find something you totally forgot to change. I now have a license saying that I am a resident where I currently live. It’s ironic since Saturday we will be doing our very first walk through of our old place.

I do not want to go. There is no doubt in my mind that I’m happy to have moved forward and no longer live in our townhouse, yet I do not want to step foot in our townhouse. Maybe it’s because I always struggle with closure in general. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid to see how the place will look now that it’s someone else’s. Maybe it’s because are tenants are strange. Maybe there’s somewhere inside me that finds it painful to think back on our life there. I don’t know what it is but I feel very strongly that I do not want to go back.

In some ways I think there’s just something nice about closing a chapter and not being forced to look back. My feelings for our townhouse are nothing but fond. We started our life there, we started our family there and we became adults in that house. But now I’m in a different world. A world of kids, activities and homeowner responsibilities.

I never really felt settled there though. I knew it was a launching pad. I knew we wanted more. So now that I’m in a house, a community where I want to be settled, it feels so different. Changing my license was the final straw that makes me feel like I have finally completely transitioned over to this new life. And going back to our townhouse just feels like a step backwards.

Of course there are many young people like me who are in the same situation. People who bought places (launching pads) and long outgrew them but were forced to stay based on the real estate market. Now we have the lovely misfortune of being land barons and owning multiple properties. Although I would like to think my distaste for going back to our townhouse is strictly based on my lack of desire to deal with being a landlord, I have a feeling it has to do with much more.

As I ring the doorbell to someone else’s house and walk through someone else’s bedrooms, I’m sure the sting of memories in those same hallways will be a little difficult to stomach. It’s not because I’m not happy with where I’m at, rather it’s hard not to remember where we came from. I will try to put my best foot forward though as I cross the threshold that used to mean so much more than my tenant’s home.