The move.

The sum of my experiences had led me to the belief that the notion of "home" is a feeling rather than a place. Because the memories, emotions and changes that occur during any given point of our lives are too vast to be enclosed in one tiny and finite space. That said, I find that I too often become attached to the space, to the memories. Not remembering that they will travel with me. That, regardless of the space I inhabit, I am grounded by the people who I love.

Right now, I'm looking out the east-facing window of our apartment, which has a lovely view of the mountains. This place has been home for over three years. It's the place where Greg left for his first day of law school, where we both started new jobs, where I took a pregnancy test and saw two lines, where  we brought Sofia after her birth. Oh how my little Sofia loves this place. She has her little corner, and her cupboard in the kitchen. She loves helping me with laundry in our tiny, front-loading washer, that is just at her level. She loves to look out the east-facing window and see her dad coming home from work.

It's become time to leave this place, and its proximity to urbanity, for a more suburban setting. And while this change is warranted and wanted, there is this part of me that still clings to this place.

I know that our new home will eventually feel like it. That the peaceful calm of suburban living (and having an actual yard, apple trees and a garden) will begin to outweigh the proximity to our favorite eateries and grocery stores. In the mean time, I'm taking this all in a bit pensively. Hoping that the new home that we create will be even more wonderful than the one we've been inhabiting.