We’ve been in our new house for three weeks now, settling in nicely, and I am feeling an interesting mix of both relief and fear. On one hand there’s the relief of knowing this is really OUR house, unlike the one we spent eleven years remodeling to sell.
Have any of you ever… nah. Who else is that crazy!
That house never quite felt like ours, because every decision was made NOT to personalize it too much, in order to sell it when the market came back.
Of the two apartments that followed, the first was lovely and felt almost like a home, once you climbed the two flights of stairs to get inside. My legs hadn’t been in such good shape since I used to run 5K and 10K races!
The second was only a place to hang our hat for a year. Six months in, we decided we’d prefer living in our 300 sq.ft. motorhome to living in that poorly built apartment and listening to our neighbors.
I will say though, the downstairs neighbor’s feuding was entertaining. Picture this: a beautiful, blonde and heavily made-up young girl, living with a much older, pony-tailed Aussie tennis-pro. Who knows if alcohol was involved, or what the fighting was about, but they were the stuff of legend. I’m talking Madison Square Garden World Championship shouting matches. They went the full 12 rounds, her screaming at him, him bellowing back, doors slamming, glass breaking. Finally, at 2:00 a.m. or so, things would be calm. The next morning their front door would slam and we’d see her mother out front in her silver Bentley, helping her load black trash bags into the trunk, and off they’d go.
There’s a lot of relief in having no shared walls, plenty of room, and some personal space around us. And there’s relief in not having to think about moving again.
Four moves in less than four years were certainly enough for us. How did you military wives manage, moving repeatedly? And with children, no less. Is there a secret?
But then as I unpacked, doubts also began to creep in, infringing on my relief.
Is this my first and last home?
Is this really where I want to spend what’s left of my life?
What if I had to live here alone? Would I want to?
I wonder if this is a personality flaw, my gypsy nature, or just normal questions? Have you ever felt this way, and how did you resolve it?
I realize that it’s too soon to know the answers to these questions, so I will give it time.
That, and sunshine, illuminates everything.