What is it about a place that gets under your skin? I wanted to mediate on this, so before we started packing all of our crap, I spent some time taking pictures of our home, while it still felt like home.
It was really hard letting go of this place. This is the longest time either of us have lived in one place for at least four years. It’s the first home we made together, and I was shocked at how much that came to mean to me over the past twenty-four months.
Yeah, there have been a lot of annoying things about living here, but that doesn’t change how full of history it is. There are so many first things that happened here. This was the place that we became married… that we really learned to live together, and that started changing us. It’s the first home we’ve really tried t0 make beautiful. It’s the home that started to make me (and break me) as a housekeeper. It’s where my business was born. It’s the first kitchen that was really mine, for crying out loud.
What is it that makes a place special? It isn’t the stuff; we’ve got all the same crap here that we did before. It’s just an apartment, and not a terribly well-laid-out one at that. It was someone else’s place before it was ours, and it’ll belong to loads of other folks now that we’re gone (though for their sake, I hope they renovate first. The linoleum in the bathroom is narsty).
I think it’s just… investment. From the days we spent painting the walls when we first moved in, to all of the loads of laundry I did, to the pasta Jared made, to all the friends who came to our parties, to all the time I spent agonizing about the crap between the stove and the counter (and doing nothing about it). This place has been lived in. And while I know that the two years we spent here is still just a short time at the beginning of our lives, it was still heartbreaking to paint over that beautiful teal dining room.
But we’re finally out. Our stuff is moved, the cleaning is done, the keys are handed over, and it’s really good to have a little closure.