All Good Things Must Come to an End

And so, it seems, all good things must come to an end, including our time at 1906 Elliott Avenue, where I've laid my head almost every night for the past 12 1/2 years.

Tomorrow, if all goes according to plan, someone else will own my old, beloved Nashville house.  And it absolutely breaks my heart.

I'm working on a longer piece about our impending move, which isn't scheduled to happen for two more weeks.  I'd be remiss, though, if I didn't write something tonight as I sit on my front porch listening to My Morning Jacket (Tennessee Fire), sipping a beer after a 3-mile night run in the 'hood.  How many nights have I sat on this front porch and unwound after a busy day with work and kids, followed by a relaxing night run and a walk home from Bongo Java?  Too many to count.

I've deliberately shied away from writing about a possible move, for a couple of reasons.  First, it's been such an arduous process, looking at house after house, then trying to close the deal on the house we signed a contract to buy.  Second, I've been trying to work out in my head why I'm so sad to leave this house and what a move will mean to me and my family.

It helps that we're moving less than a mile away.  Still, it won't be the same.  It never is.  I'll miss this house and this neighborhood so much.  It's been such an important part of my identity for more than decade.  I'm grown to love living in the city - the diversity, the characters, the sirens, the police of Lifeflight helicopters, the sidewalks, the edginess - that and so much more.  I've become a city mouse, for sure.

And it all comes to and end tomorrow, at least in this house.  The distance between this house and our new house can't be measured in feet, yards or miles.  It's a whole different world there, I fear.  No diversity, bigger and more expensive houses and a neighborhood where everyone looks and acts alike.  I'll adapt and the move will be great for my family, but it won't be the same as what we have here on Elliott Avenue.  That's not necessarily a bad thing, I realize, but damn, it makes me sad to leave this house.

I've never been one to handle change well.  I'm often paralyzed by nostalgia, looking back instead of ahead.  So many memories in this house, especially of our boys, J.P. and Joe.

I'm fairly certain I'll never love a house as much as I love this one, for a variety of reasons.

Damn.