Walls I Grew Up Between.

I'm sitting in a little room in the basement of my Iowa house. It's the room I grew up in, actually. I used to have magenta flower decals on every inch of these walls. Then, when I was far too mature for such childishness, I moved onto plaid patchwork quits that covered my top bunk bed. The closet is still full of clothes that would never fit me anymore, but I just can't bring myself to throw them away because they were such an investment in my minimum wage high school days.

I don't really know how I got here. Just two days ago I was walking across a stage and grabbing a diploma on the way and trying really hard not to trip. I didn't. I hugged a bunch of people goodbye, but not really any of "my people". "My people" were with their families getting pictures and going out to lunch. Plus, we know we'll never say goodbye. So in flurry I left Moody Church and went back to my floor to shoo my sweet girls off and start cleaning. Then I packed…so much stuff. So much. Stuff. I went to move it into my new apartment, and feeling rather adult-ish about it because, well, I'm the graduate with an apartment. It was then I found out that the family who is housing me doesn't want me to move in for another two weeks. This grown-up girl felt rather childish in that moment. My family had left. I was checked out of the dorms. I was homeless. I was carless (another story for another time). And, well, I felt rather alone in the big 'ol world of graduation.

There's something to this room tonight because of all this. These are the four walls I grew up between. There is where my play kitchen set was and on that shelf I kept my American Girl doll, Kirsten. That spot on the floor is where I spilled "Froggy Green" nail polish when I was nine and couldn't get it out. That hole is where I tried to cut it out. My nightlight is still plugged into the wall from the many nights I was scared of the dark, and there's still a small shelf in the back of the closet with the books I read when I was ten. Nothing in here is the same. But everything is. There's new furniture, new shelving and new coats of paint. But there's no hiding a childhood as absurd as mine. And tonight I feel like it's appropriate that I'm here. I really didn't want to come home, if I'm honest. I didn't want to be one of those grads who goes home because they don't know what else to do. I mean, going home can be the right decision for so many, and it's not a bad option in the least. I just wanted to prove that I could make it. That I could do it. That I was a big girl with a big girl apartment and a big girl job. But I'm not. I'm still growing. I'm still learning. I'm still homeless. I still spill my nail polish and I still need my mom to tell me it's okay.

I'm not such a big girl, I guess. Yes, I'm an adult. Yes, I graduated. Yes, I'll try to be responsible. But when I can't do it, when I can't move in yet, when my car dies, when I don't have money, when I've ruined dinner, when I get scared at night I'm still going to call my daddy. Just to hear the sound of his voice if anything.

Tonight these four walls are appropriate. They remind me I haven't yet, but that I will. They remind me I am not, but that I am becoming. They remind me that I'm home. And that here I will never have to say goodbye.