After all the
flack that Alanis Morissette caught, I’m not really anxious to misuse the word “ironic.”
However, in this case, I’ll try to trust in my understanding and use it freely:
it’s ironic how difficult it was for me to move out of my parent’s house
considering how supremely pissed off I was when I realized that the only way
out of a dead-end town was to pack up and move home. So it’s hard to believe
that I spent the vast majority of last Monday morning crying my eyes out while
getting ready for work. Since last Monday, my emotions have been up and down a
ridiculous and never ending roller coaster.
“Supremely pissed off” may sound like an exaggeration, but I
had this horrible vision of how, after five years of living away from home, I
was suddenly going to be living by a set of rules again. It felt like a slap in the face that I couldn't move forward with my life on my own, that I had to backtrack and become a dependent again. Well, I got pretty
upset for just about nothing. Yes, certain rules were established, but most of
them were either no-brainers, or nothing worth stressing over. For example, if
you’re going to be late getting home: text dad to let him know. That’s not
really a rule so much as it is a common courtesy, and it was the only thing
that got me in trouble if I dropped the ball.
Truly, it ended up being one of the most enjoyable living
situations I’ve had since I left for college. I’m not a child anymore, and
no one treated me like one. There was a new level of mutual respect for each
other’s space, and an undeniable comfort that comes with living in a familiar
setting. They also spoiled me a little—mom would make two breakfasts instead of
one, and dad would just add my laundry to theirs.
I also had this amazing benefit of having three amazing neighbors,
Mama Bear, the Professor, and a neighbor I haven’t mentioned because we haven’t
had as much interaction, but he’s always been very, very kind to me. In the year and a half I lived with my
parents, Mama Bear became one of my closest friends. While the Giant and I were
dating I didn’t see much of her because I spent the weekends at his place and basically
shaped my life around him. But recently she and I started having dinner and
drinks fairly often—she would cook a delicious meal while I would talk and mix our homemade
dressing (olive oil, peach vinegar, Italian spices, and a pinch of salt). I
hope we can always continue this.
And of course I’ll miss coming home and talking my mother’s
ear off. She likes to playfully complain that I am a chatty Cathy, which I won’t
deny that I sometimes am. Occasionally
my dad was even made to listen to me. I’d walk into the living room and give
him the usual greeting, “Hi Daddy, how are you?” always accompanied by a kiss
on the cheek. He’d tell me his day was okay, and I’d be almost out of the room
when I’d stop suddenly and think of something that I needed to get off of my
chest. He’d smile appropriately or give me blank stares when the (one-sided) conversation
wasn’t positive. Then I would just walk out and re-tell the story when my mom
got home, and she’d ask appropriate questions or tell me that I’m being
ridiculous (if that was the case). That’s typically how my process plays out:
my father is my sounding board, giving me a chance to say it out loud to see
if my theory has any merit, and sometimes he would have feedback about how
better to present the idea or the topic of discussion to my mother if it needed to be brought up to her.
Now I’m here in this beautiful condo (they rent it out like
an apartment), and I won’t say “I couldn’t be happier,” because that’s never
the truth (more on that later). But it truly is a beautiful place and I feel
like I’m getting a great deal. My roommate and I get along well already; we’ve
spent a couple of nights drinking beer out on the balcony, talking about ex-boyfriends, our jobs, sharing pictures and stories.
This is what I’ve been waiting for: a life of my own. While
I’m sad to have left my parents and neighbors behind (let it be known that they
are literally only 20 minutes away), I’m also very excited. I didn’t move here
because it’s where I’m going to college. I didn’t move here to get away from a
dead-end temp job. I moved here because I got a job with a great company, and it’s
where I choose to live. I feel
fortunate that I can say that at my age, but I also feel a sense of, “It’s
about damned time!” Overall, the situation makes me smile. I think I’m on my
way to a happiness and sense of security that can only be found independently.
