#186 the key

For the first time since I was a teenager, I don't have a key to 937 Superior Street on my keyring.  No more mothballs (see #74) or hangars (see #97) -- my Mom's house (aka where my dad spent his entire life and I lived until college -- the house that has been in our family for three generations) has been sold.

For the most part, this is a very good thing.  Still, it is weird to think that someone else will be moving in there.  I know every nook and cranny of that place.  The secret rock that hid the key; the rafters of the garage; the "cubby hole" storage space under the steps; the secret door that disguised the fuse box in the basement.  Now, someone else will be in on my secrets and even create their own.

I see parallels between the new family moving in the house and the new employees joining our staff.  They catch on quickly to the layout and the obvious things, but it takes some time or one of us to show them the next layer of the place.  They will recognize some flaws that had become so much a part of the environment that I failed to see them any more, and they will make some cosmetic changes of their own.  We will keep the same foundation and, for now, the same walls, but it won't be the same home.  Hopefully in the end it will be better; just as our organization will be better for having the new staff among us -- even if they do want to redecorate with vibrant new colors.

All the memories from the past can live between your ears and don't need to literally exist between the walls.  The key to moving out or having others move in is to embrace the potential both bring. 

-- beth triplett
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