What's in a house?

My living room has carton boxes lined up. Some are already shut tight and ready to go. Some are half full, awaiting their turn to be filled up and sealed with the packaging tape.

You might have guessed by now — we are moving houses. One more day and this house won't be our home anymore.

We’ve been here 6 years, the longest I’ve ever been in one place, forget one house. Growing up, we moved cities every few years. My father was in the Air Force and we got posted to a new station every few years. Goodbyes weren’t easy but it was a way of life.

A new station meant a new school, a new house, and new friendships. The comforting part was that the old friendships weren’t lost. How? Two reasons mainly.

One, although there were no mobile phones back then, we stayed in touch. We’d write letters to our friends…yes, you read that right…physical letters on paper with pen ✍️.

Two, getting posted to a new place was frequent for all the Air Force families. Hence, there was always this hope of bumping into old friends at the new station.

Now that I think of it, it was the comfort of not losing old connections that helped us accept every move in stride.

Today, as I sit amidst the carton boxes, things are different. It feels like leaving this house will cut off an imaginary connection I have with someone close to my heart ❤️.

I don’t fear losing friendships because our new house is a 5-min walk away. What I fear losing are the memories we made here.

As much as I’d love to believe that my mind has a library of old memories stored as high-quality videos, they’re far from perfect.

In reality, each time your mind plays a memory, it plays differently. You don’t even have full/admin access! You can’t play a memory at your will. It comes and goes as it pleases.

The other day I was sitting on the couch next to my room window that overlooks the ocean. It’s one of my favorite spots to work. And working I was until a memory suddenly flashed by 💭. It was that of my beautiful Labrador Retriever.

He’d always come nudging his face on my lap as soon as I’d sit with my laptop at this very spot. It didn’t matter which corner of the house he was hanging out in before. He’d somehow sense that I’m about to start work and he’d come running.

First, he’d bring a toy. Then, he’d ask for a treat. Then, there would be some chit-chat (he loved being talked to) and lots of cuddling. Eventually, he’d curl up on the carpet under my feet and let me get to work.

My Lab was the most loving being I have ever met and I loved him to pieces. He was 14 when he took his last breath 9 months back. Life hasn’t been the same since then. This house hasn’t been the same since then. But this house does offer me a memory of his to cherish every now and then at every nook and corner.

The terrace reminds me of his 9th birthday with his favorite banana cake. Stairs remind me of how he’d sit there like a king overlooking his kingdom down under. My daughter’s room was where he’d find solace from the loud thunderstorms.

When he passed away, I buried his toy under a tree in the park he loved to play. That tree is in plain sight from my room window. So is the ocean where I put his ashes into the water...

As we move out of this house tomorrow, I fear losing all these natural triggers that bring me memories of him. Most are happy. Some are painful.

“There’re two kinds of people who don’t experience painful emotions. The first kinds are psychopaths. The second kinds are dead.”

— Tal Ben-Shahar, author of Happier, No Matter What

In spite of what this post sounds like so far, I am not sad. My family and I are looking forward to the move. We’re looking forward to setting up new spaces, having good times with friends and family, and making brand-new memories.

It’s just this void that doesn’t seem to fill. Maybe it will, eventually. Maybe it won’t. Maybe embracing this void is an important part of a happy life ahead.

“There is a false understanding that a happy life means being happy all the time. Learning to accept and embrace painful emotions is an important part of a happy life.”

— Tal Ben-Shahar, author of Happier, No Matter What