The Place I Grew Up In

When I think of growing up in certain places, it's mostly a childhood thing. I remember birthdays, adolescence, the movement from a shared room to a room just for me and then to a room upstairs, away from my parents. But even though my childhood is long gone, I still notice that I am growing up in places I live.
We're about to move away from our apartment in Ballard. I've lived here since August 2002 and it has been as eventful as some of my teenage years.
I had an intention when I moved: I wanted a place that would let me grow and change and help me to expand myself. I had no idea what that would entail, but four years later I can say that I have done just that.
I moved in as a student in art school. I finally had a place that didn't sap the creative energy away from me when I got there. It had wood floors, nice light, a big enough kitchen, and a bedroom that only needed to house a bed. The bathroom was classic and small enough to clean with ease. My neighbors (most of which are still here) provided ample entertainment between their march to the garbage, occasional angry outbursts, and odd conversations around the building.
I live walking distance from the heart of Ballard where food, shopping, and nightlife are only increasing. I've watched as delapidated buildings get extreme makeovers and become hot night spots. I've seen what seemed to be the essence of the old gritty Ballard be knocked down to make way for expensive condos and new lifestyles.
None of it goes unnoticed. I observe the changes outside and feel similar ones inside.
This apartment has seen me in my most single, introverted time and encouraged me to break out and allow more people into my life, one of them being my husband Josh. I switched schools one last time (without having to move) and finally graduated with a BA degree. I found myself in these 575 sq ft. I realized that love was less romantic and idealistic and more everyday and routine and I preferred it that way. I even learned that it can be both.
When I lived alone the first time, I wanted to stay alone. I never answered the phone, I ate too simply (no one could comment on it because I didn't invite them over), I spent hours a day walking, I had minimal work.
But in this sacred place, I became the person I love. With painted furniture and art on the walls, I could come home and see myself and feel comforted by that. If I had a bad day, I walked over the threshold of B106 and it all went away.
I invited people to my apartment without shame. I was proud of my place. With help I turned a single person's pad into a home. With a new couch and a few chairs to sit at the table, I could entertain. Welcoming new energy into my home was the beginning of a new life. I had a few dates come over, but when Josh spent the night the first time, I felt that something was shifting again. I realized that I would share this home with someone more permanently.
I had a few guests before that. My brother David had a bed behind the couch. While certainly not that private, it was nice to share my space with him. When I left to go to Scotland, I was sad to leave my roommate. But shortly after I got back and Josh and I realized we were in it for the long haul, this crucible for growth welcomed both of us in. Our huge lives were joining in this small apartment. We had an office in the living room and a tv in the dining room and our workspace was in the middle of it all. No place to run, no place to hide. We could go into the bedroom but eventually we had to share it again. The bathroom was no place for a conference and yet there were times when we both had to brush our teeth. The kitchen became a hazardous work environment for two so only one worked in there at a time.
I lost some of myself when it was the two of us. I stopped cooking as much (to be fair, I was on the decline anyway). I slept more because it was just me in my dreams. I went back to seeking alone time. It's not about my relationship, but more about the space.
We've outgrown this hardwood floor, tile bathroom, double paned windowed respite from the world. Josh and I are looking to expand our lives, our family, our own space. I have learned what is important to me. I know that artistic living cannot be avoided but if I can't have more than three people over, I will be sad. I can feel that material energy feels less inspiring than human energy. I am in no rush to go out and buy more things to fill a bigger house, unless it can help me be a better host and homemaker. I love being a homemaker. I love the feeling of sleeping on clean sheets, eating a meal cooked with love, bathing in a sparkling clean bathroom. I can't wait to host sleepovers and game nights and five-course meals.
This apartment has given me strength to ask the universe for what I want and then stand confidently and graciously while I receive it. It has given me the gift of interaction, normally a fear that kept me from moving out of myself and into the lives of others. It has shown me my weaknesses and never abadoned me while I built them into strengths. It has constantly asked me for the truth of myself, especially when I tried to hide it from others.
These walls DO talk. They tell me everyday that my visions and dreams can become real. They whisper, "Go ahead and try it," when I am skeptical. They console me when I am beside myself with immobility and fear. These are more than walls, they are my womb when I need nourishment and protection. They are my blank canvas when I feel inspired and creative. They are my boundaries when I have forgotten my own. They are my friends when I'm having a party.
I am sad to leave this place. It is necessary of course, but I am careful not to forsake the power of this home in my life. Even if it's got the same floorplan of several other units and when I leave it will be stripped of my personal touches and unique additions. I adore this apartment and all its flavor. The metal cabinets, tiny closets, bland paint color which I never painted over. I am excited for the next home but will always have a special place in my heart for B106.