Once.. I was nine and my mom and I had to stop by our old house for some sort of last-minute thing with the new owners. It had been a few weeks since we moved. No huge changes but I remember sitting on the floor of the playroom and crying.

I moved out of an apartment last year, and two of my three roommates stayed. It is weird every time I visit them, the furniture is completely different and the general atmosphere is different. Frankly I liked it better when I lived there. It feels less like a home and more like a place where they sleep and put there stuff.

i have a lot of good memories of my first apartment, but i know it doesnt really "exist" anymore either, like the author it was completely remodeled, they wouldn't renew my lease because they wanted to gut the building and turn it into large condos.

I do love walking to/thru my old neighborhood. Its close enough for a nice day/long walk with the dog.

My family regularly drives by our "first house" that we essentially grew up in and gawk at the things they have done to it (hint: fake deer in the yard).

The house I grew up in was recently turned into a B&B, my husband and are going to stay there this Spring. I'm sure it will be very strange and look quite different, but I've loved looking at the pictures on their website and can't wait to wonder through it and the yard.

I would love to revisit the loft apartment we rented in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. My hubby & I lived there 10 years ago & it was awesome- a whole floor of an old fire house. I'm hoping it's been remodeled some since we lived there as it needed some serious work. Flying above NYC & reading online makes me fully aware of the way the neighborhood has changed in the 10 years since I left NYC... I can only imagine what it looks like now. And I shudder to think what the rent is!

I dread the day my parents finally sell their home. I think I'd never want to go back. If anyone ever cut down the 100 year old oak tree in the front yard, I think I'd just cry for days.

the home I lived in as a child was bought by our friends. When we went back one time to that area- we saw a tour of what they had "improved" to the home. It felt WIERD to see their remodeling and changes they'd made. Sure, it was their right to do so- but it was weird.

The apartment we first rented when we were married has since been torn down completely- and that was sad to see when we saw that a few years later.

My favorite former apartment was in a little four-plex in Galveston. It was an old building, lots of wood, small apartments, but right on a bayou on the back side of the island. Hurricane Ike stripped the building to it's timbers (I'd moved out long before this). A friend sent me a photo of my old place when the police let them back on the island after the storm. Since then, the rubble has been cleared and its a vacant lot. I don't think I can drive down that road and see the bare spot. It just won't compute.

I totally renovated a house that had been in my family over 50 years. I painted surfaces that my mother had painted. Since she had passed, it was an amazing experience. After I finished the house I had planned to live in it, but I sold it instead. It was really hard to let go, but it was just too large for me. I only hired a contractor when I gutted a bath. I acted as my own contractor for the kitchen renovation, and a bath addition.

I did all the painting and woodwork restoration myself. I added crown molding throughout the house that I had salvaged from a mansion construction site. It had been $4 a foot, and I paid 35 cents. I had enough left over to frame the wall sized mirrors in the baths. I restored all the brass hardware, hinges, door knobs, hooks, and such that had been painted over or dispersed through the house. I rehung doors that had been removed and stored in the attic. It didn't look like the same house. When the kitchen was finished, I had a friend who didn't believe the kitchen was the same size. He was so sure the footprint had been enlarged, he went outside to look at the foundation to prove it. He was speechless that the kitchen was still the same size.

I haven't been back, and probably never will. My whole life that house was open to me, and now, I don't even have a key. But my mark is on the house, and that will last forever.

We grew up poor and my Mom lived in a crap-hole apartment with a landlord who couldn't give a whoop. It was in an "Emery" building, in Cincinnati, built before the turn of the century. High ceiling, wood floors, rookwood (not fancy) fireplaces. We could never get her to move out, and helped her with furnishings, cleaning, etc. But it was really falling apart. I was in the building for some reason after she died, maybe checking on a neighbor of hers, and the landlord grabbed me and said you should see what your Mom's apartment looks like now! He had renovated it, not tastefully, but it was no longer crumbling apart buckling wallpaper leaking around the bathtub ...

I was so pissed off, I think I went off on him (not the first time) and lambasted him for not doing that when he his tenant lived there and could have appreciated it. So, I've learned, don't go back.

It's sort of like when you see a different unit in your building:

It's similar enough to be eerie, but also so very clearly not yours

I'm not good at it. Either I'm sad because the home belonged to relatives who are no longer with us or because people with different taste live there. I know it's their right but how could you buy a house with an absolutely charming screened in front porch and strip it off? I don't recommend it.

We walked through the remains of the first home my parents owned, the house I lived in until I was five (and remember) after the owners after us had lost it to a fire. It was unsettling and gave me an unearthly feeling to stand in the place that should have been my bedroom. We found my dad's 8-tracks in a case unharmed and played Cheech and Chong on the way home (still had a car with an 8-track player in the 90s).

I never did that. But just today, reading the NYT article online, I thought about the home we are remodelling right now and how different and strikingly modern it will be once we're finished. At the start of the project I considered to have the previous owner, an elderly lady, over to see what her former home has become, but I think it would break her heart. Sometimes it's just better to leave the past behind.

Last fall we visited a studio apartment I had lived in over 30 years ago. It had been built in the 20's and was quite charming. I was surprised by how small it was, whereas back then I thought it was large. I was also disappointed that the whole apartment building seemed to be abandoned.

I didn't have a chance to visit my previous house, but I would love to. I feel confident that now, after 5 years, the wound has sealed.
I loved my previous house and I sold it because it was an endless money pit (the house was almost 100 years old) and I could not afford to constantly pour money into it, especially not into places where it would not be seen. The foundation of the house needed to be waterproofer around the entire house, hardly any insulation, the 6 foot fence started to cave on one side, etc.
I have done a very nice job decorating it inside and my ex-neighbours had a chance to visit the house some 2+ years after I sold it. They told me that NOTHING has changed in the house, everything was virtually the same, except for different furniture.

I recently found out that the first house I ever bought was either short-sold or reverted to bank possession. That little house was a great springboard for my life; I'm sad that its destiny was so different with the next owner.

I've only loved TWO places I've lived in as an adult... One was in queens, the other in Brooklyn. The Brooklyn brownstone was the BEST option. The rent was higher, but the area was perfect and I could have a party with 20+ people and not be crowded. The old woodwork & sliding doors... perfect! I only left it b/c I decided to leave NYC.

my house is currently under contract and i just told my husband the other night that once we drive away with the last truck load of our stuff, i never want to see the house again. and i won't have to since we are moving to a neighboring state. over the last 8 1/2 years we have poured our lives into that house, brought 2 babies home there and made some great memories. i think it would kill me if anyone repainted anything or changed a light fixture. no, i think it would be best if i just drive away and, if i ever miss it, look at all the pics of the befores, durings and afters of all our hard work.

We owned a house that the previous owners had lived in for 20 years- until they moved right next door. Whenever they came in for a visit, it was like they couldn't concentrate on the conversation because they just stared around at their old house. Their kids (older teenagers) were too weirded out to ever come in.

About 2 1/2 years ago, we moved into our new house, only about a mile from the old one. I can't help but drive by now and then out of curiousity. The new owners painted the exterior (very tastefully), changed out the light fixture in the kitchen window that faces the street, and did a lot of landscaping, including taking out a rhododendron I babied from a bitsy shrub. (I can understand why, but it was still sad.) They promised, when we closed, to let me come transplant a few of my yellow violets, but when it came time, I couldn't get them to respond to my phone calls, so they reneged. I may never forgive them. But I'm more fascinated about how they might have redesigned the house than bothered even by the violets. It's always interesting to see makeovers, and that's kind of what happens when ownership is transferred.

I would never even think about visiting old apartments, though. I always considered them transient housing, no matter how long I stayed. Childhood homes, too. (Maybe because I never had any say in the decor.)

We have tenants in the first home we ever bought & lived in. So I frequently visit a home that was mine for 3 years and completely gutted & renovated by us. It was very strange at first - I have strong opinions on best way to lay out the space, how to decorate, etc. But I've learned that it's no longer my HOME even though it's still technically a house I own.
Also - love Sloane Crossley's books!

I get very attached to spaces, and I'm always curious to see how they evolve -- would look at an old house or apt in a heartbeat. I've seen the house I live in until 6 because relatives still own it -- deathly curious about the house our family lived in until my mother got her own apt. When they cleared my grandparents' house in Brooklyn, I went with my mom to select a few last possessions --it was great closure to see it nearly empty but still resonant with many many good memories.

My 90 year old mom lived in a house in upstate New York in 1934 when she was a teenager. It is now a B&B. We are going to visit it this fall. Looking forward to it!

@midmodfan

The previous owner of my house was an elderly lady, too, who had lived in the house for over 50 years. She definitely had a personality and it showed in her decorating... unfortunately, while I liked her personality I hated her decorating.

I hope she doesn't come by, because I'm sure my remodeling would be heartbreaking. Still, I can't deal with spray-painted sculptures made of PVC pipe in my backyard...

My husband and I just visited the house he lived in until he was around 6... he hardly remembered it, but I got the address from his father and while we were looking around the front yard the new owners invited us in to look around.

I could see him trying to grasp to memories but so much had changed (and it was so long ago) there wasn't much to remember. I think a few times he wondered if we were in the wrong house. When he described it to his mother, he seemed appalled at the things that had been changed, even though he couldn't quite remember the way it used to be. Deep seeded nostalgia. It was kind of funny.

When my husband and I married, we rented our first house in Old Town Alexandria. It was a rowhouse -- attached to one on the end.

A few months after we bought another house and moved out, the "end house" blew up in a gas explosion. When we drove by, "our" home was opened up like a dollhouse -- exposing our upstairs bedroom and bathroom. It was heartbreaking (our first child was born there) and also very eerie. There were two hangers in our bedroom closet still swinging in the breeze.

I love looking at photos of the houses and apartments I have lived in, to see how my ideas, possessions & tastes have changed over the years. When I had the chance to revisit both my first real childhood home, and then my first apartment, going inside was not an option, but in both cases, it was strange to see fondly remembered detail, like my mothers lovingly tended garden, or that period wallpaper in the funky but attractive honey-stained wainscotted hallway, missing. It just reminded me that life is constant change, and that my photos are sufficient to trigger some very fond memories.

All of my homes live in my heart. I wouldn't mind driving by, but I wouldn't want to go inside.

We bought our 2nd house from my SIL (it was her deceased mother's house and her childhood home). Everytime she came over she'd make comments about how it wasn't the way her mother had done it, or the way she would like it.

We only lasted 4 years in that house because of that. We basically remodeled and flipped it at the height of the housing bubble. Moved into our current home which is smaller and cheaper than that house, but we had extra money to fix it up the way we liked without anyone's interference.

My dad was in the Navy and we moved around quite a bit. I have never been back to any of the houses but enjoy finding them on Google earth.

A year after my parents retired and moved away, they drove by their old house. Mom was horrified to see the beautiful rose garden she spent 40 years tending was gone and only a plain lawn remained. It upset her for days.

Fastforward six months and they're passing the old house again. The new owner comes running out and flags down their car. She is waving a photo album of Mom's garden, carefully transplanted to her parents' house. Apparently, she'd been getting cr@p from the neighbors for months for getting rid of the garden.

I went to see my old condo that I was renting to out. It was horrifying. Junk on every single surface. She had smaller and fewer pieces of furniture but the place felt much smaller than when I was living there and had larger pieces of furniture. The bedroom irked me most since she had a daybed with a trundle and the way she oriented made the room feel smaller.

A few years ago the house my grandparents gutted and remodeled and my mother grew up in burned down. They had a recording of the fire on the news and the next day my mom, 2 of her sisters, my sisters and I all went to look at it. My mom said it was very surreal to be able to see the original house, the remodel her parents did, and the updates that had occurred since then all at once, and destroyed.

I'm friends with the girl who used to own my house (small world). She tells me it is a whole other place but that she is kind of happy that it is...something along the lines of "the place where my ex-husband gave up on our marriage is gone now."

I would love to visit my old childhood home. Mostly out of curiosity because so much work has been done to it that I'd barely recognize it.

I found it on a big real estate site a while ago. Looking at the pictures, one of the prior owners had added a second addition to the home (after our first) and knocked down walls and changed the layout of the first floor. It was pretty interesting to see.

They had also cut down the big silver maple that once stood proudly in front. My parents had planted that tree when I was just a tiny little thing. It had grown pretty tall when we moved away. :(

The beautiful old cape that I grew up in, in Staten Island, burned down about 10 years ago. It was on an unusually large lot so when the house was demolished they built 2 duplexes on the land :( It breaks my heart when I visit friends on the block. Because of this, I try not to go back. Its better to freeze good memories than be so disappointed

I don't think you can ever really go home.

I loved my childhood home, but we moved when I was in 3rd grade and I never got to visit. A few years ago I discovered Google Earth and typed in the address to show my husband a picture of the neighborhood - just to find out the entire subdivision had been torn down and reduced to a big dirt yard. Very sad.

My husband and I bought our house 7 years ago and began renovating immediately to take out some really tacky 70s "upgrades" that were inappropriate to a 100 year old craftsman home. A few months in we saw a young woman standing outside our house having her picture taken by a young man. We learned she had spent her childhood in the house and her dad had done all the tacky 70s renovations we had just torn out. She even had great memories of how her father had exposed the wooden ceiling cross beams and she had helped him "age" them with a hammer! We found a few 70s knobs and handles we were saving for a salvage store to give to her dad. She seemed a bit sad, but glad to have visited her childhood bedroom - which we hadn't yet changed at all.

I don't go out of my way to visit old places I've lived in - I don't like that ghosty feeling. But the places haunt me anyway.

I have a vivid dream geography, loosely based on places I've lived in the past. None of the places is right - they're all warped and tilted versions of the real places - but I know in my dream what real-world street or intersection or river I'm sitting on. Logan Airport in Boston is there, all gridded-unreal streets near a crowded dream-version of the T. The tiny native village in rural Alaska is there, with fewer houses and a much bigger river, and my first students (real-life in their 40s, like me) still kids. I'm often trying to get from the west coast back to the east coast - driving through bizarre landscapes based on real highways I've driven.

::Sigh:: Revisiting those old places would only poke the dream-places into twitchier life.

a couple of years ago, my step-father went into a care facility around the corner from my first apartment in Toronto. all around the neighbourhood are DOZENS of new condos, but the building i lived in and the street i lived on are unchanged, save for the taller trees.

this summer, my sister and i are going to our hometown to bury our father's ashes. neither of us have been there in over 20 years. i know we'll take a walk down the street of our childhood home - i can't even begin to imagine what this is going to feel like...

Sometimes I mentally remodel and redecorate my childhood home and other places I've lived, imagining how I would live in them now. I'd be interested to see what someone else has done to a place like the house I grew up in. My college and grad school apartments, not so much.

I'll never forget the time when I moved out of my studio apt into a one bedroom and found roaches in the cupboards on moving day.

I moved right back to my studio the next day. I slept on the floor of the studio, instead of sleeping at the the new flat the first night.

There's no apt big enough for me and a roach.

@babyfishmouth: I often do the same thing in my head as I'm falling asleep after reading design mags and blogs in the evening. I told my partner this the other night and he looked at me like I was crazy. Glad to see I'm not the only one!

being the extremely-emotionally person that I am I say.. - Nooooooooo. I cannot revisit a place I have rented or lived in once before.

I've lived 30 years in my mother's apt in Rome, then moved out in my apt, and few years later moved back there with my sister; after few years, last summer me and my sister packed everything and rented the apartment to move to UK. When the tenants moved in we kept one room for a couple of weeks to put the last few things in the boxes, and it felt really weird! We were there moving things, packing, talking... and they didn't pay us any attention like if they couldn't see or hear us... like we were ghosts!

just thinking about it it would shake my heart to revisit places where i made memories , mixed feelings .... hmmmm

this is why it's so hard for me to leave my house in Brooklyn. I'll never have the money to fully renovate, but if I leave whomever takes it over will no doubt gut it and bring it to the glorious state I always wished I could. I hate you future person.