Yesterday I told you about how much it sucks to grow up. Well, today I want to tell you how it feels to be packing up everything that remains of my childhood.
When I was younger, I was distraught at the idea of leaving my childhood home for good. Whilst I was at Uni, I hated the idea of not being able to go back to the warmth and safety of it all, because it had been a place where I escaped the bullies, and where all of my dreams begun.
However, aged 29 and packing everything up for the very final time – as we all move on, in very different directions – I’ve come to realise that I don’t feel as sad about it, as I’d expected to.
This house – or bungalow, since that’s what it is really – is full of memories. Some awesome, some sad. They’re my memories, and I cherish every single one of them, but it really does feel like the right time to move on. Why?
When I was growing up, we had neighbours – of course – but none of them overlooked us. We had trees, and fences and the benefit of awkward angles, making our slice something very much an area of privacy and seclusion. It was almost as if our house and garden were in a completely different world.
And then progress happened. The houses overlooking our back fence, and the Village Hall built at the front.
In the space of a few years, my childhood home has lost that special magic known as privacy and I am happy to walk away.
It’s strange to think that I had all of this privacy when I was a kid, and now I live in a world where privacy barely even exists any more, because we all share so much of our personal lives on Facebook, Twitter and our blogs.
My child self would be screaming in terror, but I think that we need to embrace and accept that things are changing, and that we need to change with it.
Love you always August, and thanks for listening,