I was reminded this morning as I was leaving the laundry room in my apartment block, of a piece of my life history that I had not recalled for some time. I met a young person who lived on my floor and who from time to time passed my way in the corridor, or in the lift/elevator or outside the front door of the building with his bicycle. We would exchange greetings and a smile. I had noticed a removals van outside recently and I thought that I had seen him nearby. So I asked him this morning if he was moving out and he said yes. I told him that I would miss his bicycle passing me in the corridor and wished him well. We parted with a smile.
The piece of my life history that came to mind as I entered my own home, was how free and light I felt about this departure, and how markedly different this feeling was to how in the past I internally responded to people departing from my day to day presence who I had come to expect to be there, even if it was only passing acquaintances. I felt that I was losing something valuable, felt a sense of pain, some part of myself appeared to be lost. The necessity of adapting to this absence commences, making sense of it, and moving on.
I think the first inklings of such feelings emerged whilst living in halls of residence during my first degree, at Edinburgh University. I stayed in residence all year round, as I had no other home to go to. At the end of term I used to see other students departing, suitcases packed in the corridor, friends and sometimes family coming for them, generally excitement, laughter, relief, satisfaction, anticipation and sometimes regret, playing around in the body language of all concerned.
At this time, at the end of term, I would move to another building specifically for those students staying at the University all year round, so that our rooms where we lived during term could be rented out by the University for summer conferences, and tourists. Most of the all-year residential students were international students. I was not-rather an anomaly.
At that time in my late teens, early twenties, I was emerging into an adult, working out my future in terms of career, studying hard and wishing to do well, developing myself physically, emotionally, intellectually, every minute seemingly occupied with effort of one kind or another. On top of all of this was the slow chipping off of oneself in terms of acquaintances once in your personal landscape and now gone. After a while you get used to it, and then term starts again, and the wheel goes round-and round.
The sensation of loss gradually lessened in my next foray into academic study during my postgraduate social work training. I was not in halls of residence but spent considerable concentrated time with a core group of exceptional student peers and outstanding academic tutors over a two- year period. They were exciting to be with, adventurous, funny, pushing the boundaries out well beyond comfort zones and my learning was immense, as was my wish to extend my own. With this experience built upon my Childhood and Youth experience in the State care system in Scotland over a 19 year period, I began to sense that for myself Home will always be where I am living at a specific time and family will always be those I choose to be in the company of or live with, or connect with in other ways.
I discovered that I do not need to have reciprocity in terms of connection to enjoy the connection. It makes it so worthwhile to have the reciprocity-a feeling that what you are investing is in some way returned. But for me it is not necessary.
When I discovered this, I became so free, so internally powerful. Able to handle anything life throws at me. It may knock me down, but I will dust off in time and stand up. Perhaps shakily but stand up I will and pursue my aim in life to make a difference. Leave a legacy. See my footprints in the sand of time.