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You’ve all heard the phrase “a house is not a home.” I know this to be true for a fact, which is what makes the events of today so difficult. Today I spent the entire day moving. We’re not moving far, something for which I’m very grateful; we’re only moving two streets away from the house we’re leaving. However, I didn’t really anticipate quite how difficult it would be to actually leave the place that has been my home for the past six years.
I’ve lived a lot of places in my life. Eight different houses (not counting the one we’ve just moved into), two apartments, and one dorm room. Of all those places, only two- the house I grew up in and the house I’m moving out of today- have ever felt like home to me. The one I grew up in was home for obvious reasons. It was all I knew. My parents moved there when I was two and I lived there until I was ten or eleven. It was where I met my childhood best friend when I was four and a half, not to mention every single friend I had in elementary school. It was where I learned to read, where I learned to ride a bike, where I played kickball every day in the summer, where my mom dropped my Barney cake on the white carpet on my fourth birthday. It was also home to some not-so-good memories: my parents telling us they were getting a divorce, my first time having to get stitches, my best friend moving away. Most of my childhood memories occurred within a few miles of that house. It was terrifying to leave it. I was young, and I was leaving my friends and my school district and the only home I’d ever known. But I got through it, because that’s life and that’s what you have to do.
Both of my parents have moved several times since then, but when I was thirteen, I moved into this house with my mom and sister. Now, two weeks before my twentieth birthday, I’m leaving it. I spent all of my teenage years here. All of high school, countless sleepovers and parties and Thanksgivings and Christmases, my first job and my graduation and becoming an adult, learning about the real world and then going out to experience it for myself, while still always having this place to come back to. This house watched me grow up from a silly, nerdy, irresponsible, naïve thirteen-year-old into a silly, nerdy, slightly more responsible but much more experienced adult.
Silly as it may seem, it’s really hard for me to leave this house and all the memories it holds. When my mom told me a few weeks ago that we had to move, I was upset about it, but now, sitting on the floor and looking around at my nearly empty basement, it’s really hitting me that this is no longer my home. I deal with change as it comes, but I’m not really the biggest fan of permanent change. I attach such strong emotions to everything I do and everywhere I go that it makes it especially difficult when those things end. It’s a part of life, I know, but it’s not a part of life I enjoy, and while it’s something I’ll always have to deal with, I don’t think it’s something I’ll ever get used to.
My winterguard coaches back in high school often used the metaphor that we were pebbles. If I remember correctly, they would say that in the same way that each pebble in the road makes that road what it is, each of us, and each memory, was a pebble that helped shape their lives; their “road.” I guess it’s the same way with everything you encounter in your life. Things may change, but each change results in a new pebble, shaping the road that you travel throughout your life. It may be hard and scary, but I want my road to be long and winding, and if that means I get lost on that road along the way, then I’ll make an adventure out of finding my way back.
Anyway, to finish off the last blog post I will ever write in this house (sniff), I just want to say thanks to the people who knew that this was a bit difficult for me and who have been encouraging me instead of rolling their eyes and reminding me how insignificant it really is.
Here’s to a new chapter. Adulthood, a new home, a new start, and just another pebble that makes this road what it is.

Song of the day: Vision of Persistence- Kevin MacLeod
Currently reading: Sloppy Thirds by Megan McCafferty

Expecto Patronum.

My patronus is something I discovered just over a year ago, but I can no longer imagine my life without. A year ago in October, I became a nerdfighter. And this past July, I joined the temporary staff of HPAFTW, a Harry Potter Alliance campaign, and became part of the Harry Potter fandom. These two communities changed my life and made me more comfortable and happy and proud of myself than I ever have been in my life. Comfortable, because I’ve come to realize that being a nerd and being myself no matter what is not something to be embarrassed about, but rather something to be proud of. Happy, because I love who I am now, and I love the amazing friends I’ve made and the wonderful people I’ve met in these communities. Proud, because these communities have made me realize how good I have it and help reach out to people less fortunate. I’ve never been one to reach out or do any kind of charity work, but since getting involved in Nerdfighteria and the HPA, there have been so many charity projects I’ve been involved in, and it makes me feel so good to know that I can have so much fun doing something for other people instead of for myself. I won’t even start in on the friends I’ve made and the people I’ve met and the role models I’ve discovered, because I’ll be going on forever if I do. But these people, these moments, these communities, and the way I feel now that I’m a part of them are things I will never ever forget, no matter how long I live or what else happens in my life. I will never stop being grateful to Nerdfighteria and the HP fandom, and never forget what they’ve done for me, and I’ll never stop being a part of them. I thank God all the time for bringing me to them, or them to me, when I needed them most. They are my patronus and I wouldn’t have it any other way.