The Places We Leave Behind

Sorting through boxes of stuff in preparation for moving, I came across a 1990s newspaper article about the Old Mill Six.  The Old Mill Six was a discount movie theater in Mountain View, California.  If you were willing to wait until just before a film's release on VHS (remember VHS?), you could see a movie at the Old Mill Six for less than $2.  A buddy and I had a somewhat weekly routine of seeing a movie at the Old Mill Six, then searching the jazz room at nearby Tower Records, followed by good conversation at a coffee shop next door to Tower.  The Old Mill Six closed years ago, as did all of Tower Records' U.S. stores.  But when I say I still miss the Old Mill Six, it's not just the place I miss but the camaraderie of a friend I haven't seen since leaving California in 2001.  They are forever linked in my memory.

I've written previously about my grandmother's caution to me about wanderlust in the Bravard family.  I've moved many times and lived in five states.  My launching point for this blog was the plan for another move - Julie and I moving from St. Petersburg to Tampa.  We've rented out our house in St. Petersburg and found a small apartment in Tampa, so this week is moving week.  We're caught up in the rush of packing boxes, changing our utilities and all the many things you have to do when moving.  We're not moving far, only Tampa Bay separates the two cities, but for some reason it feels to me like a vast distance.

I've also written previously about the definition of home; about how wildlife often has an instinctive need to return to its place of birth while people have considerable flexibility to change homes as needed.

Moving is a situation designed for nostalgia.  It's natural to think not only about the logistics of moving and setting up a new home, but about the emotional impact of what we're leaving and what we're about to find.  "Place" isn't just a house or the built environment, it's the people and experiences that fill that environment.  Time and distance don't just take places from us, they take the people who complete those places.  My advice is to enjoy your place as much as you can, because you never know when it might change or circumstances might require you to leave.  I still miss the Old Mill Six.  I still miss my grandparents' farmhouse in central Indiana.  I still miss the wonderful couple who lived across the street from us in North Carolina; they treated us like family and invited us to all of their holiday get-togethers.  And in St. Petersburg, I'll miss the Good Fortune Chinese Buffet; Julie and I are regulars there and it's a great place to have a long conversation over some General Tso's chicken.

There are pros and cons to settling in one place, just as there are pros and cons to my affliction with wanderlust.  I've seen places and met people I would never have seen or met otherwise.  And places change regardless; the Old Mill Six would have closed whether I stayed in California or not.  Still, it's hard not to feel a little sad over the places we leave behind.  Sooner or later, it seems, the time always comes to walk along a new sidewalk.