Moving out smells like fresh cut grass, dew from a recent rain, the adhesive from packing tape, and the odor of Sharpies on cardboard. Moving out feels like sticky sweat soaking into the back of my shirt, and a ball of emotion weighing in my stomach so heavily it feels like I can barely breathe through it. Moving out sounds like heavy footsteps, sadness tinged goodbyes, and furniture creaking that doesn’t quite fit through the doorway.

 

When I moved out on my own, I left a piece of myself in my hometown and carried the rest with me to my new beginning. Change doesn’t always feel as good as it sounds, and in that moment, it felt like I was jumping into a pool and had forgotten how to swim.

 

People often say that turning 18 means becoming an adult; some may argue that it’s really when you turn 21, but I think the first taste of being an adult is moving out and living on your own. Especially when you are truly alone away from your family.

 

The beginning of this stage of life feels equally exciting as it feels exhausting. Decorating is the fun part, but unpacking and finding space for all your things is the exhausting part.

 

You will quickly find out how much truly goes into living on your own. Your chest will ache for something that just feels familiar.

 

The first thing I realized, on my first night in an unfamiliar town, in an unfamiliar living space, was how unfamiliar quiet is. I didn’t realize how loud the sound of nothing was until I was sleeping on a mattress on the floor of the first home I called my own and found myself reaching into the darkness to turn on a show from my phone so I had some background noise to go to sleep.

 

Your mom will text you later that month asking why your data usage had been through the roof… sorry mom.

 

The second thing I realized was that being alone did not feel as good as it sounded. The first few hours are nice, maybe even peaceful, but then I became aware of how truly alone I was.

 

There would be no siblings bursting through the door. My mom wouldn’t be meeting me at home when we both got off work. That quiet was just the calm before the storm of everyone coming home from work and hanging out together. My boyfriend works second shift, so in the evenings, when I yearned for something other than the quiet, it was just me.

 

You still call your mom everyday when you get off work. Some things will never change. You still hate quiet, but you’ve learned to live with it, and even enjoy it.

 

I quickly realized I needed to figure out how to get WiFi in my apartment. What do I even say? Do I have to call? How long does it take?

 

You called your mom and asked her. It took a week to come, and you spent that week watching “The Vampire Diaries” on your iPad, on the floor, while you waited for your furniture to arrive.

 

The third thing that hit me like a truckload of bricks was how much stuff we would need to fill the space. Once we filled the space, it felt like an accomplishment, but then that feeling deflated when I realized I forgot to buy coffee pods and a vegetable peeler.

 

Your boyfriend's parents will be one of the biggest helps in filling this space. You ended up with more furniture than you know what to do with. They help you move it all in, even in the pouring rain. That Amazon wishlist you created? Everything was bought within days of you moving out. You will just about die when you see how many Amazon boxes fit in your mailroom, and then your heart will fill with gratitude when you see who all contributed to clearing out your wishlist. This helps you realize you guys are less alone than you realize. 

 

The first few weeks felt like I was living in a borrowed space, like someday the real occupants would come back and I would go “home”. But where was home anymore? Soon, however, this space became our own and it felt like I accomplished something I didn’t even know existed.

 

Eventually the Wi-FI was set up and I was able to fall asleep with one of my comfort shows, that I’ve seen at least 100 times, playing on the TV. I have filled my kitchen drawer with almost every utensil imaginable, including two vegetable peelers I overnighted on Amazon.

 

You still often forget to buy coffee pods until you’re completely out. You also still hold a grudge when you have to go to Jewel because the closest Meijer is over 30 minutes away.

 

The unfamiliar town starts to feel like home, and the space that once felt empty and borrowed starts to become my own. When people ask me where “home” is I find myself thinking about my new home, and not the one that shaped me.