Yesterday we went to visit some friends in our old town. It was bittersweet, taking a trip down memory lane. I still miss everything about it.
My husband suggested we drive by our old house, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I loved it and I don’t want to see what the new owner has done to make it theirs. I’ve never really been attached to a place before, so this type of loss is strange to me. Even when I moved away from my home town I never had a moment of regret, I was too excited to start my new life and although I missed my family, I never missed the place.
Leaving the town I spent most of my 20’s in was like leaving a piece of myself behind and I’m constantly re-evaluating whether I made the right decision. Maybe I did… maybe I didn’t. My husband always says we can move back again, but I know he would only be doing that for me – we live a 15 minutes walk from the beach now and he adores it.
Part of the problem is meeting up with my oldest friend. We grew up together, lived next door to each other and were inseparable for most of our teens/twenties. Then, about 4 years ago, something changed and she stopped being my closest confidant and honestly, now has very little to do with my life. I find meeting up with her difficult and sometimes I think it would be better for my own mental health if I closed that door completely.
It is getting easier to move on, but sad nonetheless. The last couple of years have really taught me that nothing stays the same. I think I’d been protected from that for a long time – having the same best friend and boyfriend for 15 years gave me an unnatural sense of stability and comfort. Losing the friendship of best friend has been hard and it is only in the last year that the hurt from all that happened has faded and I can look on our relationship for what it once was, and now is.
I’ve just realised this turned in to a bit of a sad post. That was not my intention.
I will leave with a positive thought.
‘No matter how hard the past is, you can always begin again’ – Buddha.