Grace Priddy vulcanlogic81@hotmail.com
It's funny, but while I myself have moved five or six times throughout college, I've always called the same place "home." However, that changed this week as my father pounded a large Century 21 sign into the lawn outside my parents' house of 23 years. I know change is inevitable, and I consider myself lucky. To this point, I have never had to experience a giant family move. I've never had to leave behind secret hiding places or beloved pets' graves before. But at the same time, I think that means I've missed out on an important part of growing up, and now I'm not really sure how to deal with this. There are a lot of memories wrapped up in 23 years. It also means a lot of, well, accumulation. I've spent the last few days sorting through decades of grade school art projects, little league trophies and yard sale treasures, wondering where to draw the line at keepsake or trash pile.
To be honest, I've never had to really say "goodbye" to anything before. Any time I wanted to clear up some space from my own living quarters, the excess items were always boxed up and moved to a storage resting place at Mom and Dad's house. In a way, I feel like I am prioritizing my life. And the scary part is, I don't see many priorities left. At first, I thought it would be hard to part with any of my life's "work." I sat for three hours on my bedroom floor, pulling 11 years' worth of old school newspapers out of boxes. I stared into my closet mirror, piles of my childhood scattered around me in the reflection. Re-reading each of my bylines, the nostalgia overwhelmed me. This was me. This is who I am, where I came from, and what I believe in as a journalist. I stared at my reflection.
How could I part with any of these and still keep my integrity? But as I began to reluctantly fill one Hefty sack after another, something slowly came over me. I couldn't help but get carried away in the spiritual, cleansing feeling of it all. To begin with, I've never seen my bedroom so clean before. And the closet space - it's almost orgasmic. I'd forgotten you can actually hang clothes in there when there aren't stacks of newsprint headlines blocking the way. I stared at the blank white walls as if for the first time, mesmerized by the sheer tidiness of it all. In a truly transcendentalist moment, I beamed at the four empty corners.
Carrying armloads of Grace Ellen Priddy to the curb, I breathed in the spring air and sighed. I finally felt like a grown-up. It was true - I wasn't a child anymore, and I was finally free of all those juvenile remnants cluttering my path to adulthood. It wasn't until hours later as I heard the garbage truck pull away from the sidewalk with my whole life in tow that I realized the impact of my whirlwind cleaning tour. I climbed the stairs back to my bedroom and stared in at the cold, sterile remains of my upbringing. I threw open the closet door, and held back tears as I stared into the tidy void. How could I have been so careless?
I didn't even make a scrapbook. It was gone, all of it, and my whole life with it. So, having no choice but to begin anew, I start fresh this morning with an empty bedroom in unfamiliar surroundings, but a little stronger sense of self. I open my closet door and stare into the mirror. I watch the same reflection as yesterday flip through these pages. I set today's DE on the bare floor and close the door, realizing I still have the best scrapbook money can buy.
Not Just Another Priddy Face appears on Wednesday. Grace is a senior in architectural studies. Her views do not necessarily reflect those of the Daily Egyptian.
Published on 11/17/05; 12:24:44 PM
