That Old House, Just Now Long Gone
A complicated gathering spot: where mortality, childhood, parenting, family, and memories meet.
« Disclaimer: This piece isn’t really about writing, creativity, publishing, or entrepreneurship but an inspiration for them all. »
I knew that today wasn’t going to be ordinary. Fortunately, it wasn’t dramatic: I didn’t wake up as an insect or to the roar of an angry crowd. I double-checked the time and thought—now’s as good as anytime to get up. It was 5:47am. I didn’t know how things would go, but I figured they’d proceed well enough.
I found myself straddling a new line—the past, the present, and the future. I thought—how strange it is to be three versions of now at once. I had merged into a place made of once-upon-a-time….
To be fair, this is a two-part story, or rather, two things that almost merge. True in the way I sometimes need truth to be, like creativity guru Rick Rubin explains it: “Nothing in this book is known to be true. It’s a reflection of what I’ve noticed—Not facts so much as thoughts.”1
There you have it.
My life consists of nearly-truths.
»» Planting the Seed for Part One: The day in question concerns a house—a reasonably typical residence in an average Midwest neighborhood. Built in 1978/79, it would be hard to describe it as historic or even old. But numbers are deceiving. The walls and space within represent many long-ago pasts. It is made of where I’ve been, who I am now, and from whence I shall be going.
On January 1st, 2024, at 9:45am, I thought—I can’t believe how well this new year is going; so far, everything has been right on time. As expected, life took off haphazardly almost immediately after this thought. Life in that ol’ house, as I knew it, would be over in just a few hours.
»» Planting the Seed for Part Two: Fast forward eleven months. Today, while on vacation to the Pacific Ocean coast, I realized, between waves, seals, and emerald-eyed cormorants, that I’m really and truly “grown up.” Odd to say, at my age, I know. I thought of this calmly, not as a life crisis, but as a spark of self-awareness.
~ONE continued ~ The House
I walked inside the old house’s front door at about 9pm on January 1. I left shocked, confused, calm, and troubled. Life was suddenly a blur that would generate emotions, letdowns, and necessary activities for the next eleven months. Saying it was only eleven months is a trick of quantum physics. For eleven months I re-lived my entire sixty+ years. Day after day, I had so many new thoughts I’d never expected.
I kept some chairs, books, letters, and other items, selling and donating as much as I thought appropriate.
The insides of the house spanned eight generations, more than forty-five countries, and six wars. Collections and memories. I was immersed in and honored to revive so many: a last glance, one more letter read, and so many tiny, proud, heartfelt testaments discovered. I remembered all those who had blessed me with goodbye waves and the simple words, “Good luck.” I had an epiphany: all the luck they had wished for me had worked.
<Now I must take a breath. Hold it in. Breathe back out>
for today
A few cups of coffee after waking up at 5:47am
I sold what was left of that old house to the highest bidder.
~TWO continued ~ Grown Up
Something odd came over me. Listening to the ocean, looking far out for whales, I realized where I’ve arrived.
I’ve been successful at making a living.
My child is out in the world, working and doing well.
She will be getting married next year.
I’ve figured out marriage on my second try.
In my 60s, my “doctor” has started paying attention to me.
My parents have both passed away.
I’ve taken care of what they’ve left behind.
I hope to honor and best live under the influence of generations before me and inspire the ones to follow.
It's a little bittersweet, but as suggested earlier, these are “not facts so much as thoughts. " All this confirms my trust in nearly-truths.
So, I return to once-upon-a-time …
Much of me is of that old house,
just now,
long gone.
I’m part of the
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An essay that invites us into a life while, somehow, holding a mirror up to our own. Beautiful.
I didn't so much read the words as feel them right down to the bone. Thank you.