My name is Ashley,
And I’m a stalker.
*Insert many other voices greeting me in unison*
Don’t worry; there is not some poor schmuck somewhere whose unrequited love has driven me into hysteria. No, the object of my stalking is actually a house, to be more specific, the house I grew up in.
My family moved into our house when I was about three years old, and we didn’t move again until I was ten. Almost every fond childhood memory I have took place in or around that house. I learned how to swing on the swing set in the backyard. I fell in love with the boy across the street. I had Christmas’, birthdays, and Easter egg hunts in that house. I did homework, playtime, family dinners, and jumping on the bed in that house. I loved that house. I don’t think we would have ever moved out if it hadn’t have been for my parents divorce, but that is neither here nor there. We moved and since then I have moved over 15 times.
So yes, on lonely days, lost days, cold days, or if I just happen to be in the neighborhood, I stalk my old house.
I say stalk because I always feel supremely creepy when I’m doing it. I don’t peek in the windows or sneak around the side or anything, I just drive by… really slowly. Like, imagine slow, and then go slower, that is how slowly I drive by the house. I do not mean to make it look as creepy as I imagine it looking, I just get lost in thought and can’t help but linger.
I envision what my adolescence would have looked like in my house. I scoff at how poorly the new owners have kept up the lawn, and can almost hear my father’s voice saying, “All the time I put in, and look at what a mess they’ve made.” My eyes drift across the street, and I think about the little boy I loved for so many years. I think of my summers with him jumping through sprinklers, and eating watermelon popsicles. I see the shed in the backyard I was convinced had monsters in it for an embarrassingly long time. I smell my mom’s cooking and remember her as did when I was little. I even drive down the back alley to peak at where my tree house use to stand, and am still flabbergasted as to why anyone would want to tear down such a magnificent structure. I see my mom and dad sitting on the patio on a sunny morning, my mom with a book, and my dad with his smokes.
And for just a moment, I feel like I am home. Then I drive back to real life.
In Between Addresses
“What do you mean you don’t know your address?” says a judgmental sounding voice on the other side of the phone from a bridge toll company that shall remain nameless.
“Well, I just moved, so I don’t know my new address.”
“Well, what was your last address?”
“I don’t think I ever got around to giving you my last address, so I think what you’re actually looking for is the address before last.”
“Fine, give me that address.”
“Yeah, I can’t remember that one.”
“Well isn’t that the address on your drivers license?”
“No, no, my drivers license has the address from before that on it. Do you want that one?”
*Insert stunned, frustrated silence*
This conversation and others like it are the reasons why, “Can I have your address?” has become a remarkably challenging question for me. Every short-term address I hand out is just another piece of mail I’ll have to redirect later, and it’s strangely exhausting. It makes me feel like I’m floating in between where I am, and some mysterious place I will be 6 to 12 months from now. With every piece of mail that gets lost in between addresses, it just reminds me that I’m wandering, and suddenly I become terribly unsettled.
“I will learn to love the skies I’m under.”- Mumford and Sons
Life has changed a lot for me over the past few years. I have lived on another continent, I have adjusted back, I have gotten engaged, I have gotten married, I have been fired, I have been hired, I have lost old friends, gained new friends and, of course, I have moved.
With all of the changes, my biggest struggle has been to refrain from stalking my past. It is so easy to look back on what could have been, how I would have hoped to be treated by people, how I would have liked to end or start something, or the homes I wish I hadn’t moved out of, but there’s no use in dwelling on my shoulda, coulda, wouldas’. I can do a drive-by every now and again, but at the end of the day, it is just a waste of time and gas.
Instead I just need to learn to love the skies I’m under. Thank God for the lovely things I’ve had, the ridiculous crap I’ve endured, and the feet He has allowed me to keep wandering with.
A Prayer for the Hopeless Wanderers
I pray not that you stop moving, but that the Lord gives you sturdy shoes to travel in.
I know that when it rains, it pours, so I pray for umbrellas, rubber boots, and an internal knowing of how to clean up after a flood.
I pray that the Lord accompanies you on all your journeys, so that no matter how far away you go (and even if you’ve forgotten the address that gets you there), you always feel at home.
15 thoughts on “How To Forget Where You Live”
How could anyone fire you?!?!?
Man, it would be exhausting moving that many times! I love your attitude about it though. I would just stay stuck in my miserableness .I always respect people that can be like, “K, that sucks but time to move on.”
Hahaha in retrospect every move, firing, and new friend ended up being a step up and in the right direction! Although I can think of one old friend that I need to be reunited with 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love it
I love YOU! And I love that you read what I write! My husband= AWESOME!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love it too. she is so much like me. I drive by the old house i lived in with daddy and my mom too. Those memories linger in my mind, the same as Ashley’s, same dad, different times. I love her so.
This is funny, real and brilliant!
I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.
AWWW thanks Kamphat!
Ashley, you amaze me. This writing is so what I feel when I drive by where we lived here in the USA with daddy and my mom. WE moved and moved too, and I still recall when I drive by , one Christmas,at Michael Dr., where Daddy actually was putting together my BIG DOLL toy…Memories haunt me(in a good way) as I drive by almost everyday, I have to pass the house on the way to my mothers house …. I love you sister, you write what I feel, I love you Ashley. ❤
Awwww we are truly sisters hehe. I love ya sis- thanks for always encouraging me in my writing!
love your writings my dear. I can actually climb into this writing and live there in my mind, as well. Wish we could live together and have mega meaningful deep conversations. Love you to the moon and back … Forever 💞
ME TOO! Can’t I just have an island where I can put everyone I love so that “long distance” is no longer a thing?
Love it… Especially the bit about loving the skies we’re under… Oh meen.
Thanks a lot friend! And thanks for always being a “cheerleader” for my writing!
Oh have I been there! I saw a cute pinterest project where someone printed off the Google map of the places they had lived and framed them. I thought “cool idea, lets do this”….then I started trying to remember all the places we’ve lived since we got married, not even considering my whole life…and my need for picture frames greatly increased. At least we’ve known found a perminant (as long as God wants) city so we’ll embrace this chapter and love it while we live it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That is a really cute idea— I may do that just for the house I grew up in. Hehe. Hope you’re doing great girl— glad you’ve got a home base!!