I have lived in my house for almost 12 years. I have lived here longer than I have lived in any other place. This house has seen 2 husbands, a couple of boyfriends, a lot of laughs, a lot of tears, and a lot of peace. My house is a pretty standard early 1980s townhouse. I have done a lot of work to it – new kitchen, new master bathroom with the best shower filter and lots of little things to make it much more my taste. This was the 5 year house that’s going on year 12.
However, I was preparing myself to move. At first it would be to a new home on my own and then it would be with the man I was dating but neither of those things were meant to be. I decided in the aftermath of those plans that I needed to work on making my house mine again. A year ago, my father moved permanently to Florida and gave a lot of his furniture to me, which I had been storing for use in whatever new home I would make. Well, you can make a new home without moving physical structures, which is exactly what I did.
It began with the process of purging furniture. I tried to sell as much as I could but honestly, I wasn’t terribly successful. I knew it would be an emotional process, watching things that had been in my home for years walk out the door but I wasn’t nearly as prepared for it as I thought I was. I moved into this house with dreams of a life with my husband at the time, dreams of babies and of different houses as we lived our life together but that wasn’t meant to be.
Once it became clear what I would be able to sell and not sell, I scheduled the move and quicker than I anticipated, it arrived. A morning spent with movers, a bit of a game of musical chairs and my living room was filled with entirely different furniture and there was a new bed in my room – king size. I spent the day putting everything back together and looking around this new space. The house hadn’t changed but everything felt different. If was honest with myself, it had felt different for a while. I had mentally begun the process of moving out, of making a new life and my house had stopped feeling like a home, like my home. The place that felt like my home wasn’t a place I could go anymore and that wasn’t going to change no matter how much I wished that it would. It would be up to me to make this house, my house, my home again.
I went out to pick up lunch and returned home and my house smelled like my father’s house. Despite the fact that the furniture had been in storage for over a year, within an hour, my house smelled like his. It was both comforting and unsettling. As I began putting the place together, arranging books and chairs, picking sheets and dusting tables, I started to feel as if these things were mine and would be a part of my life for a while. I sat on the couch, watched the TV and marveled how a room whose walls had not changed a bit could feel so different, how waking up in a different, larger bed but in the same room could feel like I was in a different state. It was a process. A process of mourning and a process of renewal, a process of settling into new places and being comfortable in them. A process of learning that different isn’t bad, it is merely different. Mostly it’s been a process of finding my space again, embracing being on my own again and figuring out what the next steps on that journey will be.
I'm a single lady living in the suburbs of Philadelphia with 2 cats named Leo and Toby (after characters on "The West Wing" - one day I will have the ability to recite the entire series by heart.That's a noble goal, yes?).
I've had a varied career doing a bunch of technical stuff that isn't that interesting to folks who aren't doing it but my real passion is writing.I also get the fabulous pleasure of coaching people from time to time and that brings me amazing joy and energy.
If you want to hang with me there are things you should know:I curse.A lot.I like hoppy beer.A lot.I like big and deep red wines. A lot. I adore my friends.A lot, a lot.I am passionate about politics (or a big geek about them - you choose).I'm an accidental but rather passionate Unitarian and few things make me happier than my dining room table surrounded by people I love.And picking paint colors, let's not forget that. Find me online here.