It's our last night in this house, and I find myself surprisingly unemotional about the move tomorrow. I spent the evening taking down art and packing, and thinking about why that may be.
And I think I have it figured out. When I bought this place 6 1/2 years ago, I didn't love it. It wasn't even what you might call a dream starter home. I just knew I wanted to stop paying rent, and this was in my budget, set up well to have a roommate, and would make a good rental later.
I don't have strong associations with bringing baby Felix home to this house because we spent almost the first three weeks of his life in Oregon. I'll be more emotional when my friends leave their house, I'm sure.
Add to that the fact that I've been mentally ready to move since a year ago, and it makes the whole thing pretty easy. I've decided to rent it out, so maybe that helps, not handing over the keys and saying goodbye.
It's funny how big and empty it felt when I first moved in. Now we're bursting at the seams with noise and laughter and silliness. Not a bad reason to move on. :)
