Attachment

I wrote this blog post before I went to California in June. The trip is over now, but I came upon this post that I never uploaded onto the blog. Just so you know, I never did drive by my old house: not once. I simply couldn’t. This was such a concern to me that it penetrated my dreams. Here is my writing from June.

home real estate
Photo by Binyamin Mellish on Pexels.com

It’s funny what a house will bring up. I had a dream last night of our house in Pleasant Hill. I miss it. I know that sounds crazy. Our house in Texas is much nicer: bigger, more updated, swimming pool, storage, three car garage… but the memories of Pleasant Hill remain strong. My dream last night was regarding my upcoming trip I’m taking back to California. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to see the house. That sounds crazy. I want to see friends, I want to visit familiar places, but I can’t imagine seeing my house…but knowing it is not my house.

I dreamed that we stayed the night in the house. I forgot to tell the current owners that we were coming. I used my key and it worked. We all went to our corresponding rooms and slept. It wasn’t until the next morning, when the owner approached us and asked what we were doing there. Her startled expression and the realization that this house is no longer ours, hit again.

I was walking from the Valhalla office to the street and I could see our front door. Knowing it wasn’t ours anymore sent shivers down my back. It was such an odd sensation. When I moved from Concord, my first real home that I purchased with Mike, I ached also. I couldn’t drive by that house for at least two years. I get attached to places. Why? It is so weird.

I love my home in Texas. I also really like Texas. The people are nice and the area is really pleasant. I am starting to make new friends and my kids are starting to make new friends. I’m getting more familiar with the surroundings and not needing the GPS as often. But… I hold to the past.

I’ve always done this. I don’t like change. I fear the new. It’s hard for me to adjust. I think it’s harder for me to adjust internally than it is externally. Externally I can go through the motions. Internally I squirm. I don’t like not knowing where everything is. Just yesterday someone needed hydrogen peroxide and I instinctively went to the laundry room. That is where I kept it for 15 years in PH. Here, I don’t have the large over head cabinets I had in my makeshift laundry room. Here I have a normal laundry room that has cabinets, but not kitchen style cabinets that I had in PH. As such, I need to store hydrogen peroxide in my bathroom, not the laundry room. Its odd things like that, that make me pause. Change isn’t my comfort zone.

I keep wondering if this new home, beautiful home, will become my new attachment. Will the memories of my kids in high school penetrate my thoughts in this house? Will my attempt at creating a podcast, blog, book…. My future writing career be my centerpiece of this house? Will I hold the memories I built in PH? I still think of PH as home. Will that change?

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