Countdown to the end of an era
In the next few days I’ll be marking the end of an era, or at least what I hope is the end. On Monday I’ll begin moving for my third (and hopefully last) time this year (not to mention, fifth time in 2 years and eighth time in nine years. But who’s counting?) This most recent madness all started 2 years ago, I had just celebrated my 30th birthday and I had just branched out into the joyous realm of owning my own business. This decade was going to be it. I loved my job and my little basement apartment. I had just gotten it exactly the way I wanted it. Tufted love seat, strings upon strings of white christmas lights and custom artwork… Aside from the occasionally rainy ceiling, it was perfect, and it was home.
Then my landlords called me upstairs one night and said, “We’ve decided to sell the house, so you’re going to have to find something else.”
I might have cried.
I didn’t have anywhere to go. Well, anywhere but back to my parent’s house, and at 30 that option had definitely lost its appeal. Just then, there was an opening in a house in New Haven. It meant more rent than my current amount and going from my own little slice of heaven to sharing a house with 5 other women… I drove down to see the space and told myself, “You’re going to like it and you’re going to take it, because you have no other option.” I saw the space and I met a few of the roommates that I hadn’t previously known. There was craziness and twerking involved. I told them I would take it. On the day that I moved in I swiped my rearview mirror off my car while backing out of the driveway…
I might have cried.
“6 months”, I told my self, “It’s only a 6 month lease and then you can see if you like it or not.” At the 6 month mark things had shifted in the house and we were all discussing other options, which we pursued another 6 months later.
I had just gotten the new basement the way I liked it… BUT! We needed a different place and found a beach house for rent. It was only for the winter/spring months, as the owners would be wanting their summer home back come June. But it was the BEACH! I don’t think I cried during this move, unless possibly tears of joy… but I don’t think even those.
I loved the beach house, possibly more than I’ve loved any inanimate object in my life until now. It wasn’t so much the house itself (with it’s terrible artwork and strange furniture combinations), but it was the space. The ocean in winter is amazing. I was at peace. After years of just trying to stay afloat in life (no pun intended). After job changes and serious injuries and major life changes. After everything I had worked through I was actually, for real, unquestionably happy. Everything was going right.
And then May came.
Once again I had a move out date and nowhere to go. Except I did have somewhere to go… two options in fact. I could move back with my parents or I could move in with My Loretta (my little old lady friend who I have prayed with every Tuesday for the last 3 years.) Neither option was ideal, both had perks and downsides, but in the end I decided to take Loretta’s spare room for the summer then see what I could figure out for a more long term solution in the fall.
I most definitely cried. I think I cried at least once every day for almost the whole month of June. (It’s worth mentioning that I’m not really much of a crier under normal circumstances… my average is probably 2-3 times a year in general. But this was neither normal nor general. I was in the struggle.)
Being as opposite of a “city-girl” as possible, I’m quite proud of how I’ve really tried my best to enjoy the perks of city life. And to my surprise, I found a lot to love. But despite the many appeals, I knew I wouldn’t be here long. Summer is quickly approaching its end, and I started packing again.
But I didn’t have anywhere to go. Until…
A week and a half ago I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize. It was an offer of the upstairs of a cape in Wallingford. The location was perfect, the rent was perfect and the set up was just what I needed. And best of all, for the first time in two years, it doesn’t come with a built-in move-out date.
I might have cried.
Now, it’s not that I think this will be my forever home, or that I’ll never move again. But there’s something huge to be said for knowing that you have somewhere to go that’s yours. That’s safe and peaceful. I get to bring my couch out of my parent’s basement! I might burn my ironically name “Nomad” style bed frame just out of spite.
So much has changed in these past two years. I so incredibly and highly value each of my roommates and each person who I’ve met and done life with. Honestly, I wouldn’t have changed anything that’s happened in this recent span of time, even the hard stuff. And some of it has most certainly been hard. However, I can so clearly see that all of the amazing things that are happening are directly related to the hard situations that brought me here. I will never be the same after my stay here in New Haven, and I will forever look back at these two years as the catalyst for all of the amazing things to come.
Through all of the highs and lows of this past season, I can say along with Paul, “…I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”
Here’s to a new era!