You don’t have to listen to country music to know who Carrie Underwood is. She’s a gorgeous blonde singer known for her girl power and bombshell voice. She talks about getting revenge on cheating boyfriends and being an all-American girl. There’s another song that comes to mind at this time in my life, a good-ole tear jerker titled “Temporary Home” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LraOiHUltak)
“This is my temporary home. It’s not where I belong. Windows in rooms that I’m passing through. This is just a stop, on the way to where I’m going. I’m not afraid because I know this is my temporary home.”
These lyrics ring particularly meaningful for me in this time of my life because I have moved back for the short summer timeframe, away from the college dorm and hallway and elevator and dining hall that I had called home for the past eight months of my life.
Transitions and change have never been my strong suit, I just pretend that I’m organized and have it all together. I have this secret superpower where I appear calm and composed and educated on the outside, while monkeys rip apart the walls of my brain and burn everything into chaos on the inside.
Leaving my childhood home was rough. The monkey’s became so sad and confused once they had torn my insides to shreds, and they moped around for a while not knowing what to destroy next.
And then, my home became the dorm. It became a buffet meal and talking to my best friend while we procrastinated projects and papers. It became going to sports events and going out late on the weekends. It became my new way of life.
The months passed, finals were studied for and completed, the flowers bloomed, and all of my possessions were shoved in the back of my car and shipped back to the place they originated. This quick transition and barely good-bye wrecked havoc as the monkeys had the rug ripped right out from underneath their content chaos, the poor things.
Coming home, there was so many old and murky memories that were dredged to the top of the crystal clear lake that college had formed. All of a sudden, I had rules to follow again. I had responsibilities to handle, I had to get a job and rearrange furniture and talk to people I hadn’t heard from since high school. Even though I was back in my “home”, the picture didn’t hang straight on the wall. Something was always a little off.
I have a theory to the crooked picture, despite how much repositioning I’ve tried. It hangs lopsided because I know that in two months the picture will be stacked back into a box and moved away again, this time for an entire year’s worth of an apartment lease.
I’m afraid to get too comfortable, when I know I’ll be leaving again.
I’ll always have to deal with the past when it comes to transitions and changes and moving life around every few months/years. That’s what being a young adult is about. We were built to overcome the temporary, and adapt to our environment.
However, I think back to the sad country song, and how all of these places are just my temporary home. I don’t know where I belong, if it’s even a place. I’m just passing through, and keeping the monkeys as calm as possible while doing so. Keeping the future in balance with the past is challenging, but a necessary part of surviving.
Yours with honesty,