I don’t tend to bounce around.
In the past five years, I’ve moved twice, each time with deep intention and purpose.
Move #1: Flagstaff, Arizona. Moving to join my then-boyfriend and now-husband in creating our first home together. It meant the end of the long-distance romance and the beginning of a brand new adventure. Our two-bedroom townhouse was where we first learned how to live together. It was home to sing-alongs and late-night sleepovers with friends, snowed-in snuggles and misadventures in cooking. The move was everything I never knew I needed.
Move #2: Seattle, Washington. Moving to our favorite city on earth, a place surrounded by trees and mountains and water. Our apartment, perched on the top of one of Seattle’s seven historical hills, was the place that I launched my business, celebrated our engagement, and planned our wedding. It was home to Seahawks games and late-night writing, countless conversations and joy-soaked celebration. This apartment has been more than a space... it’s been home. To laughter and tears, dance parties and intense growth. And gratitude. So much gratitude.
Today, my honey and I are saying goodbye-for-now to that space, our little home on the hill.
As we speak, our belongings are being loaded into a moving truck to make the 20-mile trip across the lake to our new home, nestled in the basement of the house that I grew up in.
These past few weeks — from the moment that we finally decided to make the move to last night as we packed up the last of our boxes — have been witness to deep wells of emotion.
Of excitement and certainty, knowing that we’re making the right choice - for us, for now - to be closer to family.
Of grief and mourning, of temporary goodbyes whispered as we walk through our neighborhood and pack up belongings that we won’t see until we move again.
We’ve had moments of deep anxiety, as we struggled to picture our new life, miles away from dear friends and P’s job. A new commute. A new routine. Sharing space. Making space.
At the same time, we've had moments of thrilling anticipation as we made plans for our new home. A vegetable garden. Summer nights sipping craft beer in the backyard. A hammock. Nature at our fingertips.
A home is more than just the sum of its four walls. It houses memories and moments. It makes space for community and celebration.
The environment that you create becomes the space in which creativity is born, where moments are crafted, and where connection emerges.
Right now, that looks like cardboard boxes and chaos. And that’s ok.
It’s where I’m at, and I know that my spirit (and my space) will settle in time.
Dear home on the hill, our little slice of paradise amongst the city lights, I’ll just say this:
Thank you for a million tiny moments. Thank you for bringing adventure and friendship into our orbit. Thank you for housing our laughter and love, for providing space for growth and conflict and transformation, and for witnessing the minutiae that has meant so much to us.
We love you. Goodbye for now.