Fair well, Armington Street

Home is where one starts from. — TS Eliot

I wrote about this house when we came back to it early in the pandemic. As most homecomings, it was wonderfully nostalgic, a smidge uncanny and perhaps a little bit of a bad idea. But we did it. We have lived here on Armington street for a total of 112 months. Some of those were better than others but I think it was exactly the right mix of joyful and painful. The walls of this house hold some of the most important memories of my life — my children growing up, my friendships, my lovers, my becoming. And I only have a few more days of being cradled in this familiarity.

It’s 5:30am and I’m taking in the darkness of my bedroom, the gentle clicking of the heat, and the shapes of the bare trees outside my window. I can see Jupiter twinkling above a set of branches where I’m quite positive the letters of my name are spelled out in the negative space between them. I will miss this view.

I’m waiting to watch the sun rise over Narragansett Bay and flood the east-facing windows with a familiar, honey-colored glow. The early morning light in this kitchen is simply magical.

The space here has changed dramatically over time but the floor and the morning light are the same. I love them both. I spend a lot of time laying on the floor because, well, it’s literally grounding.

Leaving now is important. A page turned a while ago and I was feeling a little (maybe a lot) stuck. To continue the metaphor, I’ve been the blank half-page after a shitty paragraph at the end of a rather predictable and mundane chapter. What’s next though?

For physical walls, the next thing is a little three bedroom bungalow with green asbestos siding and a charming porch with a swing across town. It’s all potential and no memory. The light is excellent (expect for in the kitchen, which is my only complaint other than the price) for growing things; plants and children and, frankly, me. We all have some growing to do.

Saying goodbye to Armington Street feels good and right, which is so much better than I can say about the last time we left. And when I reflect back on all of the people who’ve come and gone, I think departing has always happened at just the right moment. I’m trusting that this is my moment and that what’s coming next is exactly what’s meant to be.