Once I realized I was leaving Jacksonville for what could be the last time, I decided to swing by my old house for one last look. I was a homeowner once. I miss those days. I am heartily sick of being at the mercy of arbitrary strangers in the form of landlords.
I got butterflies in my stomach as I drove down that street that I had driven down nearly every day for over 20 years. This is an emotionally charged street for me, full of memories, good and bad. As I got closer to my destination, I could see a younger version of myself walking to the library, playing with the dogs in the park, doing yard work.
But a funny thing happened. I nearly passed the house. I didn’t recognize it at first. The new owner took down those accursed asbestos shingles. He painted it a different color. He changed the position of the porch swing. He took down the ratty awning and railing and replaced the front steps. He removed those scraggly bushes. It made me wonder what changes had taken place inside and in the back yard.
This stirred up an interesting stew of emotions for me. The guy has done right by my beloved house; he’s done better than I could ever afford to do. If I had stayed there, I’d no longer have a mortgage. Can you imagine? But the place would be falling down around my ears. Instead it’s revitalized. The house is no longer mine. It has moved on, just as I have. I’m a work in progress, too. I can only hope I’ll do as well.
Before.
After.
Leave a Reply