Some things you don’t want to know will take a year – even if you know or suspect everything will work out.
This month marks a year since I got the notice I had to move out from my home. I know everyone wishes I would seize the chance – after so many years as a roommate – to find joy and self-expression making my own home again; a silver lining from the upheaval I went through.
But it turns out relocating was one upheaval too many. After the move, I was too numb and exhausted at first to even believe in my surroundings, never mind inhabit them. Then in late October, I started crying every day – and tears filled November, December, January and most of February.
The past week or two, though, a long-dormant feeling has begun to stretch and yawn itself into my awareness: I live here. For now, for as long as I can manage to pay for it, these rooms are my place in the world. Yes. It’s home.
Things don’t have to be perfect to be a blessing.