The other day I pulled out a box and packed up my Dear America books, which have taken up a prominent place on the hutch for as long as I can remember. They were one of the first series that I loved to read, and I loved how they looked. I arranged them by color on my shelf. As time went by, I narrowed down my collection, donating or giving away the ones that I didn’t particularly care for. So the ones that are left are special.
I boxed them up, I realized that I didn’t have any photos of my bookshelf, and it made me kind of sad. It would have been neat to document the things that were pretty constant for most of my life, my beloved books that I always had arranged just so.
Since I don’t have a picture, let me tell you that my room is so sunny. It’s painted the best kind of light blue, and most of the furniture is white. It’s filled with pretty photos and all my favorite books. I’ve enjoyed many naps in there on a summer afternoon, and the sunlight only makes it better.
Last week my brother packed up the queen-size bed that has been in my room for the past two years. My dresser was moved down to the new apartment weeks ago. After the wedding, my desk will join my bed in Richmond and my youngest brother will move into my room. All my things will be gone. The space will be there, but my room won’t be any more. It’s kind of scary.
It’s hard to let go of what your sure of, but we do it for a reason. It’s in hope of something better, and of change that forces you to grow by virtue of leaving your comfort zone. I like to think that I’m not really leaving my comfort zone, but rather broadening it to somewhere new.