6 Months In and It’s Kinda Sorta Maybe Starting to Feel Like Home, I Think
Six months has flown by. Our lease is already half up. We barely feel moved in.
We flew home to Las Vegas last month to visit family and hold some essential oils events. While we were there we rummaged through my mama’s attic, condensing the remaining artifacts of our previous life, trying to cut ties to what we no longer want to carry around with us but can’t stand to throw away.
I found my Pinterest-before-Pinterest-existed files, Zeb’s baby clothes, love letters from middle school, books upon books, 47 photo albums from back in the day when we used to actually develop our photos, memorabilia that never found its own scrapbook, and random piles of utter shit that came with no explanation as to why we stored it in the first place.
All in all we were able to pare it down to under a dozen boxes, shrink-wrap it to a pallet, and $800 later it was sent ahead of us to FL. Because apparently memories do have a price tag.
Six months we’ve been in this house but it didn’t feel real until we made the decision to unpack my mother’s attic. Until this point we’ve been slowing plodding away at creating little pockets of sacred space, finding things we love to fill our rooms, carefully choosing only the things we “find beautiful or know to be useful” as we promised ourselves.
This has resulted in a pretty empty house as we pick through what we don’t love to find the few pieces here or there, at antique stores or flea markets, that we can’t live without.
But we’ve found some things we DO love.
Like my little art space with its new paint box…
And this sweet little table we picked up to keep crap off the counter…
And my colorful living room with my fave rug that we discovered makes a great puppy chew toy…we’re still looking for the perfect coffee table and we’re considering hanging a hammock from the ceiling (right now the twin of my retro orange chair above is in there)…
And the platform bed Justin made while I’m still searching out a bedspread that hasn’t been eaten by dogs…
And the table he also made with an old sewing machine base…
We’ve been slowing picking up mismatched chairs for it that we plan to paint the same color (we also have a couple one-person bench/stools that double as our nightstands)…
And my office space which can’t be done justice because of the sheer amount of clutter I have in there. But I’m slowing building up my bookcase with old crates, and Justin’s rustic wood and steel pipe desk is amazeballs.
If you haven’t noticed we have the hots for rustic wood and antiques. I guess I could say the style is colorful eclectic with a heavy splash of splinters.
Paint is still a headache we’re trying to battle, but I’m in love with lots of bright white. I’m just not in love with painting. (Note to self: Paint first. Move in second.)
I have to admit though, it’s been a mixed bag. There is this part of me that rejoices at the collection of things we love and the mindful putting together of a home. There’s another part of me that gets antsy as each new piece feels like a thread tying me down. Indvidually, a thread is no big deal. But collectively they have a strength to make me claustrophobic. (Bringing back our attic-full-of-stuff feels like bringing up the past, almost like baggage. We want it and we don’t.)
Truth is, I still need to travel. Not in an RV, but with a backpack (on wheels, mind you). I also want my community and a garden (neither we’ve been able to create much of yet). I want chickens…that someone else takes care of so I can drop it all and take off to South America or Bali or Thailand or India.
I want wings and roots. They seem at odds with one another but I’m insisting they’re not. I get unsettled when I settle for two long. I get ungrounded when I don’t.
But overall, I am in love this little home. It’s just the right size: not the McMansion we used to have, and still a lot more elbow room than they RV, for sure. And although it stretches me to remember that I am indeed free, despite the things I may fill it with, it’s a good kind of stretch. The kind that allows me to examine and let go of my unfounded fear. The kind that reminds me it’s still just stuff, even if it does make me happy.
I remember when we sold it all the first time. I walked around taking pictures of my reflection and contemplating our last night. We knew then that should we ever settle down we’d be starting over from scratch. It’s weird to start over in your 30’s, to have nothing and need to pay to restock your walls. It’s also beautiful to find the intention to find our own style this time.
So yes, these are the things that rattle around the head of a grounded nomad 6 months in. The back and forth of desires and needs fulfilled and awaiting fulfillment. It’s a curious little process to ramble through. And I know we still have a long way to go.