Would you? Could you? Have you? I’m talking about rolling up to a house you once lived in, knocking on the door and asking if you can come in for a peek inside.
All I can do is shrink in horror at the mere thought of a stranger explaining they used to live in “my house” and asking if they take a quick trip down memory lane. No, no and no.
We’ve been in our current home for six years and it feels like the most “me” house I have ever lived in. I don’t know if it’s what we’ve gone through as a family here (a lot) or the age of my children (or is it my own age!) but if someone bowled up and told me this was their old house I would politely slam the door on them.
My little sister once knocked on the door of our childhood home (she was in her early twenties at the time) and was plucky enough to introduce herself to the owners, explaining she lived there as a child. They very kindly invited her in. However, the walkthrough dismantled my sister’s memories.
“It had become a house, rather than a home and it just felt different, less beautiful and it was so small! And it looked tired and run down – my memories of it were better than it was in reality,” she said. In classic older sister style I stopped myself from saying, “I told you so”.
There is indeed so much tied up in the memories of past homes. For me, it was the first Sydney apartment my husband and I lived in when we got married (all 35 square metres of it!), our first flat in Paris, then the next one when we had our first daughter, then another one for another child, and then another one (yikes!) and then our first house as a family of five when we moved to Australia.
So I get the emotion, the awe, the way the house moves you and the memories that can be stirred inside. Chances are you know your past houses like the back of your hand.
My more subtle acknowledgment to old houses is a project I undertook during lockdown. I bought some copper pipe and cut it into numerous pieces and then had each piece engraved with the names of the streets we’ve lived in and loved in (along with our children’s names and pets). And voila – we use them every single day as napkin rings. It’s not as vivid as walking through our old houses but it’s certainly not as confronting.
And if curiosity really does get the better of you, be braver than me but not as bolshy as my sister – one friend revealed she visited her childhood home when one day it came up for auction. She walked through it when it was open for inspection, and then promptly ran into her siblings there.