Moving On

This wasn't going to be my next entry, but life cropped up and fed me some material so there you go.

A chance remark made by my Dad when we were Skyping one evening while I was in Italy inspired the title of this blog, so it's about time I made reference to it again, and this is something pretty much everyone can relate to:

I'm leaving home. (Actually, at the time of publishing, I have left home)

We all leave home at some point (or at least we're supposed to). I've left home several times already. When I was eighteen I left home to go travelling. When I was nineteen I left home to go to university. When I was twenty-two I left home to go travelling. But this is a different kind of 'leaving home'. This is kind of...it.

Vamoose.

See, the house I grew up in is very little. And my family are very...big. And there are no opportunities in Devon, and it's logical, and, quite simply, I love my boyfriend and I like the thought of living with him. (Again, time-of-publishing update - what is this thing called 'compromise'? And why must I apply it to the piles of his clothes on the bedroom floor? Watch out darling, 'Boots' is about to happen to the shower room). But sitting in my childhood bedroom, sorting my things out and realising that this room will soon belong to my youngest brother, shook me a bit.

I found us the place and Ewan moved in a month ago while I was still in Torbay studying for a CELTA. Both our names are on the contract but I'm so used to being his visitor that I'm still having to make a conscious effort to refer to it as 'our' place. But that'll change as I adjust.

It wasn't the knowledge that I'd be moving my life and my base to a new, comparatively unknown location that gave me the jolt. Not even the suggestion that I could be getting cold feet over the next stage of our relationship or, I'm a little ashamed to say, seeing the realisation dawn on my lovely Mum's face as she stood in the kitchen doorway - 'I just realised... This is kind of it, isn't it Charlie?' No, it was when I remembered that my childhood bedroom is going to be taken over by my youngest brother. The little bit of space I've called my own since the bundle of joy arrived thirteen years ago - yes, changes were made when I left for university and my relationship to it has changed several times over the years but it was still, essentially...mine.

That room saw me through my Busted phase, with posters on the wall and 'surf hair' wax (how??) on my shelf. Then my McFly phase (similar), followed by the Emo phase (Busted posters replaced by Panic! At the Disco and Fall Out Boy ones, hair products replaced by kohl and ALL THINGS BLACK WITH PINK STRIPES, and Green Day lyrics scratched into the desk). Then my Christian phase (let's please not go there), my psycho-bitch A Level revision phase, my 'where is home - London or Devon oh God what IS my identity' phase, my 'well I've finished uni and NOW FREAKING WHAT' phase, and finally, my 'return home temporarily to gain another qualification and then bugger off for good' phase.*

Magnolia walls, floral bedcovers and Penguin Recycled Classics are to be overtaken by...a superheroes theme.

Transience is healthy. Too much permanence leads to rot and stagnation. As ever, it's about balance. 

It's time for me to move on. I made the choice and I'm happy that doing so means that my little brother will have the opportunity to experience having a space to call his own. I'm happy that this little room will be able to do the same for him as it did for me. But the fact that this little sanctuary won't be mine any more is a bit of a tug. Until the new place with Ewan starts to feel more 'mine' than the room that was 'mine' for so long, I suspect I'll probably feel a bit placeless again.** And that's fine.

One door closes, another opens. Transience is always a given. It's time for one chapter to end, and another to begin.

*Because you see, even though I'm 'moving in' with Ewan, my career choice is kind of...roaming 

** What is it with this notion of property anyway? I sense a black hole opening...