I choose to stay.

I opened all of the windows. Every single one of them. I opened them all and now as I write this the house is cold with brisk winter air. Then, with a lit sage in hand, I traversed every room, waving it toward the corners burdened with the weight of memories. Spider webs, dirt along the baseboards, piles of laundry, remnants of the past in photos and empty frames awaiting purpose. Groceries, thirsty plants, wrapped presents patiently awaiting the dawn of the new year. My son's writings adorned his sister's bedroom wall.

As I moved, a flood of memories surged. You see, this house has been my home since the tender age of 3. Three years ago, I returned to reside within its walls, each nook and cranny echoing moments from my life. The place I learned to ride my bike, the exact spot where I stood reading my college acceptance letter, the location of my first kiss, the secret journal writing corner under the stairs. Even my own handwriting etched on the closet walls of my childhood bedroom.

Lately, thoughts of leaving this cherished abode have crossed my mind. Life's challenges stir a desire to close the windows and doors one last time, to embark on a fresh start. Memories from years past cling to my heart, vivid as if they unfolded yesterday, like scenes from A Christmas Carol with the ghost of my past looking in. Gazing out the window on this beautiful day, I remember where I exchanged vows with my husband, officiated by Meghan Maris (some of you may know her). Recalling that moment, uttering 'I do' to a future unknown, a future that will be filled with both tears and smiles. A future my ghost still endeavors to navigate.

I write this letter today, January 1st 2024, to share an epiphany born of this walking contemplation within these walls. As the shepherd of this studio, my personal mission is to fearlessly embrace growth and learning, to decipher connections without fear of the lessons they may impart, even if accompanied by a twinge of pain.

So, here it is. This house is no different than my physical body.

There are times when I yearn to extract memories from my body, feeling anger at parts that seem to have failed me. Resilient memories inside my mind that I wish to silence away forever. Yet, I cannot. I cannot alter my body, my mind, or their history. I cannot change my family, job choices, or the paths trodden each previous day. This body is the only one I will have in this lifetime. The immense joy and excruciating pain etched into my cells will accompany me into the future, whether I like it or not.

I may desire freedom from this house, from its memories and burdens, but I'm awakened to the truth that fleeing won't heal me. The walls are not the issue; they are capable, just as my body is. Today, I acknowledge that my body, this house, this city, and this world hurtling through the cosmos cannot be replaced.

Thus, in 2024, I choose to stay in my house. I choose to stay in my body. I choose to embrace love and pain within both containers. I choose to heal while being within each and every moment that has been, is in this exact moment, and will be tomorrow. I am choosing to stay.

Thank you for reading.

With love,

Krista