I'm moving out of my house this weekend.

I've moved out before, during college, but I've always left all of my non-essential things behind, knowing I'd be able to come back and get them if I ever needed to. But my room is going to be used for other things, and I need to clear everything out this time, and I doubt that I'll ever be living in this house again.

Strange, realizing that I no longer live at home anymore.

I've lived in this house since I was a baby. I remember running around the neighborhood with the other kids (all of whom have moved away) repeating the only thing I knew how to say in English: "Just a minute!" I remember the glorious day I finally grew tall enough to reach the light switches on my tippy-toes. I remember sitting in the front yard with my mother, tickling one another's noses with the weeds. Years later, sneaking out the back door at night (and sneaking people in). I've gone through 22 years of laughter, arguments, fear, joy, tears, in this house. So many memories reside here.

It'll still be here, of course, but I'll no longer have my space here. It's sad to think that my whole life fits into a few truckloads of boxes.

Upheaval is a catalyst for change.