Finding My Place (part deux)

Since the day I decided to venture out on my own and buy a house 11 years ago (and subsequently marry the realtor), I’ve had this deep-rooted desire to sincerely connect with a small town community.  I’m pretty sure it stems from having moved so much as a child, but whatever the case, I’ve always wanted it.  I had this idea that it would be charming to walk downtown to the deli, or bakery, or antique store – and they’d know me by name when I walked in (and naturally, a small bell would chime as the door to their shop opened).  I would feel connected to those people in a very small-town kind of way – the kind of way where they would ask how my husband was doing, if I was going to grow my heirloom tomatoes this year, and if my cat – Leroy – was still afraid of the vacuum.

Of course, at the time, I had no husband, I’ve never grown heirloom tomatoes, and cats are well – cats.

pissed cat

But I still moved into said Small Town and started patronizing the local businesses.  At first, all things were rosy and rainbowed, set against the scenic river backdrop.  My old, tiny home’s walls thick with possibility, promise, and just a little lead paint.  But in time, as I restored my home and attempted to make new connections, the dream of living in “pleasantville” started to fade.  To my dismay, many of the downtown shops I liked so much closed as the real estate market took it’s historic nose dive in 2008.  In addition, I wasn’t always able to find the things I needed downtown and (admittedly) the Big Box Stores started to win when it came to furnishing my home and, well, eating.  But, it was still a small town with nice people, adorable homes, a scenic river, and that charming small-town vibe, complete with 4th of July parades and Christmas tree lighting ceremonies.

And so, we stayed and persevered, and fixed up this little home, and trudged through the toughest financial times we’ve ever faced.

After 11 years here, I’m happy to report that business downtown has been on the uptick recently and real estate is getting better.  At the same time, though, I’ve not connected in the way I really wanted to with my community, and I’m feeling sad about this.  My husband and I have often waxed sentimental over the fact that we’ll miss this place when we move.  Unfortunately, that means leaving my current small town – because there really aren’t any homes for sale in my town right now that will suit our needs.

silly house

And so, in the hope of attempting to atone for the sin of not fully connecting with my current small town, I’m hoping to start over  – I want to truly connect with the next town in which we live.  I’ve been getting excited about what new people, events, places, and adventures I’ll be having soon.  Luckily, we’ve found a great home in a nice, small town (that unfortunately doesn’t offer as much “downtown” as my current town, but it’ll work nonetheless – there is, afterall, an antique store, thrift shop, deli, flower shop, pizza place, quilt store, and watering hole… what else do we need?).

There are a plethora of positive aspects to this move – but there are also some things that make me a little sad.  While I’m ridiculously excited to be making this move, to a new town, where I can fulfill my wish to start over, make new connections, and find my place – all while learning from, and respecting, the place I’m leaving – I realize that I will inevitably miss my current community.

Especially the river.  I’m really going to miss the river.

river

But, when everything pans out with this new house, I’m sure I’ll get distracted by the many new adventures I’ll be having, along with all the DIY/Restoration/Decorating things on the horizon, too… it is, afterall, an old, historic home in need of some love.  Fifteen rooms’ worth of love, to be exact.

All of which will make excellent blog fodder!

Wish me luck.

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Finding My Place (part one)

There are stirrings afoot in my life – a new home is on the horizon and a big part of me doesn’t yet want to get too excited.  I suppose that particular part of myself is the part that is frightened that things may still go awry – but I keep hoping beyond hope – quiet, but hard, in the back of my mind, mostly when no one is looking, or when it’s just me and my daughter at nursing time – that this is finally IT.  It is finally happening…

we are moving to a new house!  After 11 years – about 6 years longer than I ever thought – we are moving on.

This has me feeling so many different things – aside from the hesitation that it isn’t quite real yet.  Many of the people who know me outside of the “internets” understand what I must be feeling these days.  They know how long my husband and I have wanted a new home and the reasons for why it has taken so long.

But what these folks may not know, is the deep connection I have with the notion of “home” and why my anxiety about this move is sky-high.

I blame my parents.

As a child, my home was a place of solace, joy, and wonderful memories.  I realize this isn’t true for everyone – so please do not misplace my expression of gratitude as bragging.  My parents made our home truly homey… even though we moved 8 times over the course of my childhood – up and down the east coast, with a stint in Texas – wherever I laid my head, it was home and I was safe, warm, secure, and loved.  For that, I am truly thankful.

Plus, my mom always did a good job decorating.

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So, it’s no wonder that when the time came for me to set up my own home, I had placed very high expectations on myself to make it just as homey as my childhood.  And the anticipation of waiting for things to be Final and Real for this next move has me on the edge of a salty blade… coupled with all the other *normal* stuff of life (parenting, working, etc.), sprinkled with packing and packing and more packing – I’m just really fun to be around these days.

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When you’ve wanted something so much, for so long – it heightens the emotions associated with waiting – and you find yourself singing the chorus from Tom Petty’s “The Waiting.”  At least that’s what I do.

And, I just keep focusing on Jeremiah 29:11

Plus, the idea of “home” for me goes beyond a place to live.  It is the place where we make a life.  It goes without saying that “home” is a safe place, but for me, I place a lot of emphasis on the importance of my home in how I live my life.

Within the sacred walls of my home, I have relationships with the people in my life absolutely closest to me.  We make and share meals together, we celebrate holidays, and we are at our most vulnerable – we bathe, dress, sleep, laugh, and cry – and in my particular case, give birth – in our home.

So, for me – it’s more than a structure where we “make memories.”  It’s where life is – and because of that importance, I cherish it.  I cherish the space by keeping it clean and organized, by decorating it beautifully and making it comfortable, by fixing things when they break and improving things when they need it.

Home is my life.

And while I have enjoyed living in the tiny space we currently call home (and I will miss it someday), I also realize that, like in life, we grow out of things – and in this case, it’s our tiny home.  And that is okay.

So, I’m waiting, hoping, packing, parenting, working, packing, waiting, hoping, packing, and on and on and on.  And I’m getting to the end of what has been the longest 30 days of my life – as we are scheduled to settle on the new house next week.

Seriously, I was more relaxed waiting to give birth to my first child.

But wait, there’s more!

Tomorrow we’ll talk about all the stuff I’m feeling about moving to a new community.

Stay tuned.