If these walls could talk...

If these walls could talk, I would pour myself a cup of coffee, grab a cozy blanket, and listen to the story they had to tell. This is where I find myself this morning. Perched on my windowsill, listening. I hear the steaming of the coffee pot and the quiet hum of the city below me. The darkness of morning fills my small space and light starts to creep in as the sun shows its face in the distance. I lay my head back in surrender, looking at the stark white walls that surround me. And I tell them to talk. I'm ready to listen. 
They were aware of my upcoming arrival, these walls that are now talking to me. Little did they know about the string of emotions that dragged behind me as we drove my life down Highway 94 nearly 13 months ago. Although my belongings fit in 2 vehicles, I was leaving behind my most important possessions as each mile passed. 




Their first introduction to me immediately exposed the excited, but naive, me that turned the handle and slowly walked into my new, temporary, home. 


I had made it. Made it to this place where I never thought I'd be. These walls explain my eagerness to explore, to learn. They admit that they laughed at me upon my arrival, as if I didn't belong. Which I didn't, and maybe still don't. 


The walls keep talking, keep telling me the story that I'm so interested in hearing. They knew I was scared, this was obvious. But they helped me. These walls and this little space became my safety net within a matter of days. My dependency upon them only grew as days turned into months.


It was inside these walls where I transformed from the person I was to the person I am today, something that can be recognized in my posts over the past year. I tell these walls to leave out the parts I'd like to forget, knowing that they remain in my mind simply as stepping stones and nothing more. These walls must have seen a dozen different versions of myself as I stepped from stone to stone, never really settling on solid ground. Never really sure where I was going, what I wanted, or what the hell I was doing here. In fact, looking back, I can barely remember how I got here. My time spent inside these walls cannot be described in words, and trust me I've tried. 

It was here that I learned that it is okay to feel uncomfortable when exploring an unknown part of my life. And it's possible to be proud of myself for exploring. But my journey does not end here. In fact, it takes me just down the road to a new beginning. As I look back at my time on Jefferson Street, I can't help but smile and laugh a bit. If it's possible for this little place to change a person, it definitely has. I've learned more about myself than I ever thought possible. And I've grown, this is for sure. 


Time for these walls to say their goodbyes. Time to pack away the past year of my life and save it for later. Time for one last morning perched on the window sill, one last look at my view. And one last smile as I look around me, grateful for what I've had, but even more grateful for the life I have ahead of me.