Aug
26
I am faced with all sorts of decisions with this new home: where do I put things? What things do I pay money to fix/update and what things do I decide are good enough for now? For the things I am updating, what further choices do I make — for instance, now that I’ve decided the whole place could use a fresh coat of paint, professionally applied, what colors? Oh, I’ve decided that simple good old white is a nice backdrop, well did you know there are 2382957190053715465728983002058261 shades of white, and that’s just from one paint brand???
The bigger more expensive decisions give me a bit of anxiety/paralysis but I am finding that the ongoing issue of “where does THIS go?” is an unexpected delight. My approach to keeping a semitidy home has always come down to the idea that everything should have a home, and that way cleaning up is easy enough: you go back to your home, you cluttery rascal. Inevitably, entropy invades this process and your thing-homes become a little nonsensical. Like, the batteries live in a jumbled drawer along with random screws and mini lightbulbs, why? Who knows! But now I’m starting completely fresh and I can create brand new tidy thing-homes that align with my own thinking and no one else’s.
I’m discovering that it’s not necessarily the most strategic move to decide upon a storage location without developing your own rhythms. You know, you want to figure out how you routinely move around a kitchen before you figure out which should be the silverware drawer and which should be the ziplocs/parchment paper/foil drawer. Plus there’s my own built-in muscle memory to override — like, I switched up where my socks and bras and nightgowns go in my dresser because now I can use the whole thing instead of half, and so I find myself constantly reaching for the wrong drawer. But I don’t think that’s because they’re in the wrong place, I’m just not used to the new arrangement yet. Or maybe they are in the wrong place, and that will reveal itself over time.
Anyway, I find all this effort of discovery pleasing in a satisfying sort of way. Narrowing in on what feels right, through trial and error. It’s also gratifying to be slowly moving past the stage of full-on chaos and the feeling of wanting a specific thing but not being sure what temporary heap of disarray it might be residing in.
Bit by bit, I am unfucking the mess with only me in mind. Sure, I still have a giant cardboard box that I’m using as a coffee table, and one room is strewn with footwear because I’m using my shoe rack to hold toiletries, but I’m getting there! I am dialing this all in to my own liking, and there is a real satisfaction to that — to learning what I prefer, and creating ecosystems that support those preferences.
I don’t have pink elevators or pools, but there’s a real Barbie’s Dream House aspect to this stage I’m in. Every choice offers me the chance to make it my own. Sometimes I catch myself wondering if I shouldn’t feel more sad than I do, but those just aren’t the feelings I’m sitting in right now. It was a terribly difficult tradeoff to make, and I’m past all the dreary what ifs and I’m in the new reality. I know there will be more ups and downs to come but things are coming into focus, and the view gets better each day.
Aug
23
I’m all moved into my new home. Last night was the third night I slept in my new bed, my new bedroom!, and it was … honestly? It was glorious. I slept heavy and deep and with so much comfort.
The first night was a little rough, though. Everything was fine until I was in bed, all tucked in and done with my scrolling, lights out and me just there in the dark staring up at the ceiling. I have a little fan at night but I could still hear unfamiliar house sounds. Unfamiliar shapes to the room, a growing feeling of unfamiliar everything. It wasn’t like the semi-exotic sterility of a hotel room, or the not-mine but still-known outlines of someone else’s house that you’ve been to before. It was lived-in but not me who had lived there, you know? It was another house and I was in it. I felt like Goldilocks. Somewhere foreign and maybe uninvited.
Spookiness was starting to lay on me like a wet-breathing blanket (did I lock the garage door? Did I lock the patio door?) and I was dangerously close to feeling sorry for myself and I did something deliberate and a little woo: I went searching for gratitude, and it was not hard to find. I reminded myself of all the things to be thankful for in the moment: the delicious brand-new sheets, the goofy bone-shaped knee pillow that is such a joy for side sleeping, my bamboo nightgown that surely came from some dreary overseas sweatshop but is nonetheless whisper-soft and delightful. I widened my scope to gratitude for having the means to have this new-to-me home that is all mine, every room entirely for me to fill and enjoy. I pictured the house being a loving presence, creaks and all, happy to once again be sheltering life and being loved in return.
This really, really worked. I could see it happen right before my eyes, how the shadows literally softened in my perception and became peaceful rather than looming. I stopped worry-looping and felt my body unwind and I fell into a sort of cozy padded sleep as though held in a cocoon.
Last night I had a wonderful time going to yoga downtown with a friend, she introduced me to the studio she’s been attending for years and I loved everything about it – it was a small class with only 3 other friendly people, the instructor was interesting and kind, the space was vibrant and quirky. It felt so good to stretch out my sore body, muscles pinging from a few days of moving heavy things.
My friend gave me a mason jar filled with the most exquisite strawberries from a local farm. We went to a Caribbean restaurant and ate sweet ripe melon dripping with spicy bright sauce and enormous fried chicken sandwiches with plantain in lieu of bread. I learned about her fascinating long term relationship with a nonbinary partner and admired her eye-catching appearance: a short butch cut complementing outrageously envious bone structure, muscles popping on her tall frame along with generous feminine curves; she’s like a punk R.Crumb character with glasses and striking silvery hair, really something else.
I came home afterwards glowing from good movement, good food, good conversation. I thought about how incredibly different my life already feels. I can’t tell you how much of a rut I’ve been in for far too long, for years. I can’t tell you how hard it was to get out of that rut, because of how muffled and comfortable it was. It was paralyzing until it wasn’t, and then everything happened in such a relatively short amount of time. My divorce was finalized this past Wednesday, the day I moved out. Just a few months ago I was married and lived in one place, and now I’m not and I live somewhere new.
It’s all changed. The windows have been yanked open and the fresh air is just blasting in. It’s been scary and it’s been sad and it’s been so fucking wonderful and amazing. I’m filled with optimism and curiosity. I feel like I’ve hit CRTL-ALT-DEL on my entire life and it’s reloading with a brand new landscape and today as I write this I am just feeling so happy and grateful for all of it.
-
My product review site:
[