On the market

Today, our house went on the market. I wish it was that simple, though. Because it’s so much more than that.

This is the vessel that our entire married life has been contained within. The only home Sierra has ever known. The house where our lives changed – where sheer longings turned into surprising realities, where we’ve seen friends come and go and pass away.

Which means, in some confusing and over-dramatized way, we’re selling our life. Or, at least, part of it.

We’ve put our house on the market. In doing so, we’ve put our sense of style on the market. Our security. Our cocoon, our safety zone, our base, free from tag, no touch backs and all of that.

We’ve put our view of the perfect life out for everyone to see, to judge and to offer on. It’s like sending a manuscript to a handful of publishers – we’re opening ourselves up for critique, and the person who wants our home the most will make an offer.

I’m happy that we’re doing it. I’m thrilled, actually. It’s exciting, without a doubt. The chance at altering our surroundings is something I look forward to. I’m thrilled with the idea of the hunt, of discovering the perfect new habitat, where both of our kids will roam free, creating the same kind of memories that I created in the homes I grew up in.

But it’s weird to think that Sierra won’t have many memories of this house. And to Baby Boy, this house will simply be an illusion in his parent’s minds – a home in which he was conceived but never stepped foot. It’s the foundation that we clung to as we created a new life for ourselves, a life that made both Sierra and Baby Boy possible, yet it will be like cell theory to the two of them – impossible to imagine, too minute to understand.

I’ll miss this house. At times, I’ll be filled with nostalgia. I know Kerrie feels the same. But it will be short lived. We will turn wherever we land into our home. Just as we’ve done before at this house; just as the lucky owners that follow us will once we leave.

It’s a chapter in our lives that will have passed by – not with painful remembrance, but with fondness. A chapter we can always look back on, proud of what we accomplished.

A chapter in the past, with many left to discover.