Being homeless isn’t so bad.
We’re not really homeless, of course. We’re living with family. We have our own space. We have really nice people surrounding us.
It sort of feels like home.
It’s been a week since we moved out of the pretty yellow house in Dundee. Leaving was hard. I haven’t cried as hard as I did pulling out of the driveway for the last time in quite a while.
But you know what? Now? I don’t really miss it.
Life is funny like that.
It feels good being done with that chapter actually. It feels good not having to worry about the monthly mortgage payment or the utilities or how to make the grass look green again come summer or what to do if the furnace goes out or shoveling that long driveway or changing the battery in the fire alarm so it will shut up or … any of those things that come with being a homeowner.
I do hope we have a home again someday, though. One we pick out together. One where maybe we can stay a while, maybe a long time. I like that idea.
One of the last things I packed up was a small framed picture that hung in my bathroom. It’s an abstract drawing of two people in bright colors. Beneath them, it says: “They came to sit and dangle their feet off the edge of the world. And after awhile, they forgot everything but the good and true things they would do someday.”
I’ve loved this for a long time.
To me, this message is hope of a better tomorrow, of the power of dreams, of the beauty of being together. It’s a message of simplicity. It reminds me to slow down and remember what’s important, what’s possible. What’s true.
It’s in our new, borrowed bathroom now. And it fits just fine here, too. In our new, borrowed home.
On Christmas Eve, right after he proposed, my fiance gave me a couple records (“There’s more?!” I said). One was Ray LaMontagne. If you haven’t heard him, go and listen.
Start with this song: