courtesy Pink Sherbet Photography

Well, I’m all moved out of my old apartment and into the new. I’m getting unpacked, having fun setting up my new space, and it’s nice here. Still, I felt kind of sad last night as I locked the door to the old place for the last time. I have lots of great memories of that flat; my years there were very, very happy.

Even deeper than that, though, is the fact that the apartment represented security for me—the most and best security I’ve had in my life. This was huge, and very nourishing in a way that I sorely needed after my chaotic childhood.

After my mom died when I was 5, my dad went into a bit of a tailspin, and our family moved dozens of times. I never had a whole year in one school until I was almost a teenager. Sometimes we had plenty of food and money; other times we had very little of either.

I adapted and did fine, and in some ways I liked our adventurous way of living. Sometimes, though, I hated it and wished I had a normal family, piano lessons, and trips to summer camp like my friends.

There’s no denying that all this insecurity shaped me. My adult life has largely been a reaction against the chaos of my childhood. I’ve made stability a very high priority, maybe the highest, because I don’t want to be sleeping on someone’s couch like we did when I was a kid.

But recently I’ve been questioning how important the pursuit of stability should be. It is wonderful to have a sturdy platform from which we can do most anything else. But if it’s the biggest priority it can become kind of a trap, limiting our freedom to try new things and to grow.

My old apartment was a blessing, and I’m so grateful to have lived there. But it also took up a lot of time and money—about half my take home pay every month. In a way I’ve been sacrificing the real security of a growing nest egg for the perceived security of a lovely large apartment.

I was also very house-proud when I lived there. And there’s nothing wrong with that, I guess, but I think maybe I liked being the girl with the awesome apartment a little too much. Maybe there are better things to be proud of.

There’s also the fundamental fact that life is not secure, no matter how much stability I seek, no matter how many beautiful supports I build up around me. The forces of stability and freedom are always playing with each other, creating continuity and novelty, and it’s our task to learn how to play with them.

At this point, instead of sinking all my resources into stability, I want to focus on learning to ride the wave of freedom, to lean into the winds of change and not be scared of where they will take me. I’ve no desire to jump off the deep end with this—it’s not like I’m going off to live in a box or a cave. I’m just seeking a more realistic balance between security and freedom, where I can have a place to lay my head and also be light on my feet.

Accepting the fundamental instability of life feels like growing up to me. I’m no longer a child seeking security above all else. Instead I’m an adult choosing more freedom—looking forward to, and more ready than ever ready to help create, what’s next.