Nowadays, it’s easy to showcase your self the way you want to be seen. As people, we naturally want to put forward and show our best possible self. We post our best pictures with our best angles with the most flattering filters. You don’t find many individuals updating their Facebook status when times are challenging or sad and you definitely don’t see people posting to Instagram that unfiltered and unflattering photo that makes them appear 10 pounds heavier. It’s only natural, right? But behind closed doors, we are all real people with real challenges and experience our own personal struggles.
Since moving to San Diego, I have done a good job showcasing my happy and exciting moments on social media. I have to admit, the majority of the time here has been pretty picturesque. Every day is definitely not perfect though and some days are much harder than others. It’s been a big change and like everything else, adjusting takes time. I believe in order to overcome our personal struggles, we have to be real and true to ourselves, experience these emotions and know it’s all part of the journey. Today’s post is one of those posts, it’s real and it’s vulnerable.
It’s been over a month now since I closed on my Portland home. On signing day, I remember being so ready to sign away my home. I take that back, I was more than ready, I was practically busting through the doors of a Starbucks with a waving pen in hand. After all, my house had been on the market for much longer than I had ever wanted or even expected. Being more than eager, I didn’t think I would get emotional that day. Why is that memories come across our minds at the most inopportune times? I gritted my teeth, trying to focus on just signing the papers without getting emotional. Unable to fight the emotions back, there I sat in a La Jolla Starbucks with tears filling my eyes. I was overwhelmed and flooded with the memory of closing the front door to my Portland home for the last time…
I could hear thumping in my ears as I made my final steps towards the front door to lock up my house for the last time. Not knowing if what I am hearing is the sound of my footsteps in a now very empty house or if it’s the sound of my heartbeat. With every step, it feels as though my heart is pounding faster and faster. I make it to the front door and stop. I am more than overwhelmed. I turn around, away from my front door, and begin to look around at the now very empty walls. These walls hold almost five years of memories. Five years of memories that I couldn’t just walk away from without a proper goodbye. I turn around and make my way back through the house.
This house that I called home was more than an investment of money, but an investment of my heart and soul, a part of me. Call me overly emotional or sentimental, but as I make my final walk through my empty house, with every room, I am presented with flashbacks. I can picture them almost as they are happening live, right before me.
Making my way through the living room, looking at the fireplace, I think of Betty. I can picture bringing my sweet Betty home for the first time after adopting her. I can picture the countless times in the cold winter she begged for me, more like demanded, I turn that damn fire on for her. I can visualize her flopping her belly in front of the heat. I look at the floor in my living room and am reminded of my second fur baby, Phoebe. I can think of all of our memories that took place on that floor, from potty training to teaching her the countless tricks she can perform. Both of my animals were adopted while living in this house.
As I make my way down the hall to the now empty guest bedroom that was once filled with furniture, I replay the first guests that ever spent the night, Trang and Dylan. It was my very first night in the house and coincidentally my 25th Birthday. I remember Dylan ripping into the plastic cover in the wee hours of the morning to expose a mattress so he and Trang could sleep after a night filled with celebrating both my birthday and moving into my new home. I smile, thinking how grateful I am to have friends to celebrate with. I then begin to think of the many sleepovers that took place over the years from some of my closest girlfriends (Meleeka, Cambria, Sarah, and Kristen) in that guest bedroom. I am so thankful for these friendships.
Turning the corner I make my way to the kitchen. Not only did I accomplish so much with a beautiful remodel, but I am taken back to what prompted the remodel to begin with, the fridge. Boy did that thing give me grief. After a faulty install which lead to an expensive water leak, I am reminded of that dramatic night. I can remember my dear friend Delia, coming over late in the evening, tools in hand, ready to help. I will forever be grateful for her and our friendship.
Turning my head, I am directed to my sink. I look at the now beautiful chrome bridge faucet thinking to myself how the new home owners will have no appreciation for it. After all, they didn’t have to endure the faucet that was there prior to the remodel. Shortly after moving in, the kitchen faucet hose snapped off which caused water to shoot straight out. Standing alone in my kitchen, I begin to laugh out loud thinking of the several people that unknowingly got sprayed with water from that thing. I also chuckle knowing how ridiculous it was that I lived with it like that for so long. I am reminded of my grandparents coming to my rescue and finally replacing it for me. I am so thankful for the memories like this, made with the ones I love. I can recall the several trips my dad made from Salem to Portland to help me with projects around the house, even silly ‘projects’ like hanging pictures on the wall (Yes, that’s right, I don’t use a hammer, I’m working on it, okay?). I look around my kitchen, presented with the countless memories surrounding laughter, dancing, and singing, sometimes by myself, but mostly with friends and family, and I feel a sense of warmth and love.
I make my way back to the front door. Now, as I stand on my front porch, I look where my Adirondack chairs once were and I can think of the the several warm summer nights that were spent sitting here with a drink in hand. I smile, knowing that this was a great first home filled with amazing memories.
This time I am able to shut the door (both literally and figuratively) to my Portland home. As I begin to stick the key in and lock up for the final time, I am filled with two overwhelming and conflicting emotions, HOPE and FEAR. Hope for my future, but fearful for the decision I have chosen and the uncertainty of my journey ahead. Why would I leave my cushy job? Why would I leave the home that I created for myself with all my friends and family that are close by? Did I make the right decision? Will I be happier? What have I done?
As the rain began to down pour, I stepped down from my front porch steps and made a quick dash to my car. I was running more than late to my dad’s house party and received texts from family asking my whereabouts. With the car parked in the driveway and rain pounding on the windshield, I continued to sit in my running car taking it all in. I decided to pull out my phone and jot down notes of my emotions from this night; I wanted to remember this moment. After several more minutes went by, I put my car in reverse, pulled out from my driveway, and drove away from my NE Portland bungalow for the very last time.
Moving to San Diego and walking away from my Portland home was and is still very scary. We naturally want to cling to the familiar as a form of safety net. Every day I am faced with thoughts of fear, but I am learning to strike them back with thoughts of hope. Stepping out into the unknown is extremely unnerving, but I know from my own personal journey that all transformation requires us to accept this uncertainty and embrace the unknown. Because on the other side of change is happiness.
So…
the saying, “As one door closes, another door opens”
…has a much greater meaning for me.
Kyla Benson 