Today, while I was doing laundry, and walking out of the closet that I share with Justin, it hit me like a ton of bricks: I don't want to leave here.
I don't really ever want to leave this house. True, it's not the craftsman-style dream home that Justin and I have our hearts set on for one day, but right now, it IS home. And home is hard to leave.
When I was thirteen, we left our Anne Lovelace home. When I was eighteen, I left the Ontario House for a short time, and lived in Ruston, where I left four different homes over the years: Dudley, Barnett Springs, my castle-on-a-hill apartment, and then Creekwood Drive. Then, 609, my apartment with a dear friend on Clyde Fant Parkway in 2010. Then, the Ontario House again in 2012, when I left for North Carolina. Then, our first apartment together in Kinston on Doctors Drive. And most recently, our Wilmington apartment on Bloomfield Lane in July of 2014. It was sad to leave all of them.
And when I was doing chores today, delighting in the mundane while I am on this glorious break from school, I felt it. I felt the I-want-a-forever-home feeling. I want a home that doesn't have an expiration date. I want a home that we buy furniture for, one that we know we will be staying in long-term. I want that home. And I know that it is at least two years away.
But I don't want to leave this home we're in now. Because Christmas 2014 with my family happened here. Friendsgiving 2014 happened here. I started occupational therapy school here.
I know that I want to leave, so that we can be closer to family and friends. But, at the same time, I just don't want to leave another home.
The good news is, I don't have to right now. It will be a while before we pack up our boxes and head somewhere else. And I am going to delight in this home; I am going to relish our days here.
photo | the mantle during christmas
