This Place

This Place. For almost 30 years, I have been coming to this place. A house on an island. A house that isn’t exceptional in any way, but is magic nonetheless. The structure is locked in the 80s: imagine pink carpet, dated kitchen, and linoleum bathroom floors. But magic happens as soon as you walk in the door.

It is the view. Walk through the front door and the view assaults you: 180-degree water view of the Strait of Juan de Fuca* in Washington State. I say assault because no matter who walks through that door, the view will take their breath away.

In most places, your memories live only in your mind. You try to recall the who and the when; what you did and how you felt. In this place, the memories are plastered on the walls. Pictures from each year since 1999 are collaged to highlight who walked through the door and the spectacle and hysteria that ensued. Although this is not my house, my life is documented in those pictures. Photos of me dancing with college roommates, playing outside with my kids, competing in silly games (real and made up), and (funny enough) kissing my ex-husband (that is a one-of-a-kind shot). The pictures are a living legacy with many shots of people no longer here or no longer in our lives and yet they live on – on those walls.My kids literally grew up on those walls and there are so many snapshots of them at different ages and stages. From my now 30-year-old son’s first trip at age 2, they grew up in this place, a constant in their lives. It is their happy place which makes this place even more special to me.

So why am I telling you about this place? It is because this week I will be leaving for the last time. The house is for sale and after starting my nomad journey here in May 2023 and returning for 2 additional extended stays during this adventure, I will be driving away from the magical sunsets, off island, and cross country. It will be the last time I experience the magic of Whidbey – not the island, but this place – because a new owner will (hopefully) buy it. They will buy the magical view and the endless summer days that see the sun set at close to 10 pm this time of year. They will buy access to outdoor hiking and adventures, eagle sightings and whale watching from the backyard, and the Blue Fox Drive-In. They will buy a structure which I imagine they will renovate or maybe even tear down and build something brand new. And they will make their own magic.

Leaving this place is one of the hardest things I have ever done. It is emotional and complicated. It is as close to a family homestead as I have ever had. I was a kid who moved around a lot, who became an adult who moved around even more. So, this place represents consistency and roots. I know every nook and cranny of the house, and yet I continue to discover new things. The walls literally talk. I am mesmerized by every sunset and yet the sun does in fact set each night.

I grew up in this house. It has always been a soft landing and a delightful surprise. I take the deepest breaths and fully exhale here. I laugh until my face hurts, build roaring fires, wear costumes (so many costumes), disconnect to connect with myself and my people. I sit in silence without a care in the world. The breadth of experiences has afforded me the full gamut of emotions. And all of those emotions are crashing down as I prepare to say goodbye.

If you know me, you know I don’t have a great attachment to things. I collect people, create community, but do not typically value stuff. But this place…I value this place. Maybe because it is a gathering place for my people, a true home with no rules except to come and find what you need. It is not a house of things, but a place that holds my heart. If you have ever been to this place, I hope you feel what I mean. There is no place like this place. And as the sun sets on this chapter, I will miss this place deeply.