Al Seier Lane.

I know that maybe this is stupid. And it's definitely sentimental and squishy. But, it is a little gift I wrote for my parents upon my upcoming exit from their loving care. So if you hate the squishy, don't read it. Here you are, blog world:

I remember crying the first night my family moved into a new house. I sat in what was supposed to be my new home, missing the blue walls and the cloud wallpaper of my old room, thinking of the times my dad would drag me around the old house by my ankles, listening to my shriek-filled giggles fill the air as my mom watched salmon croquets sizzle on the stove. The new house's layout was not conducive to such shenanigans. I sat there in my bed, knowing everything was changing, everything was different, everything was wrong.

But, days and months and years passed, and without my noticing, that strange house had become my home. The shades of blue on the walls changed to shades of green and beige, proving my mother lived there. The kitchen cabinets rearranged themselves to accommodate our routines, and re-rearranged themselves every few years. Salmon croquets still crackled and sputtered on the stove, and my shriek-filled laughter still filled the house.

Over these last twelve years, that house has been the place I come home to. In that house sit the chair on which i toss my backpack after a long day of school, the bed on which i sit and cry with my mom if everything's just gotten to be too much, the table across which my dad and i have had countless conversations.

And now, as I pace nervously on the brink of perhaps the biggest change of my life, i feel again like that first grade girl crying in her new room. Everything is changing, everything is different, everything is wrong. I've fastened myself into a routine here. Cemented myself into the comfort of living with my mom, my dad. Into the comfort of knowing exactly where to reach for a coffee mug in the morning, of the ever-continuing search for the pizza cutter, of my clothes smelling fresh and new. I've set myself up for failure, really.

What was I thinking? Running to my ever-caring mother with every pain in my stomach. Letting my understanding father rub my temples to chase away each migraine. Now I've no chance of survival on my own. There's no way I can do it. Everything is changing, everything is different, everything is wrong.

And though I'll probably sit on my new bed in my new room crying as i did twelve years ago, I know that with time, I'll learn where the coffee mugs are in the morning, and that you don't really use pizza cutters in college, and that all you have to do to get fresh clothes is throw in a dryer sheet. And I'll learn that all the different places I'll go in the coming years will become home under my nose, without my noticing. I'll learn that with each change comes a new normal, and with each new normal comes a new change. And all of these changes will add up to my life. And all of these normals will feel like home. But none so much as the cozy brick house doused with beige on the corner of Al Seier Lane.

Thank you, and goodnight.