Today marks our first anniversary as homeowners. A year ago today, at this moment, my car was packed completely full of everything I’d needed for the past 6 weeks or so (plus the odds and ends that wouldn’t fit in the moving truck), and a toddler who was still drowsing—I’d put her in the car at about 4:30 in the morning and driven for two hours before watching the sun come up. I was so excited—to see my husband again, to end our 5 years of student transient life, to live in a real house for the first time in my life.
I was looking forward to experiencing a permanence and stability that had been lacking in my life for years.
I imagined knowing my neighbors, hosting play dates in my house (my house!!!), and getting involved in a new church.
I imagined typical sleepy suburban living—the boring bane to many, but my ideal.
And when that drive finally ended, I was home. My home was empty, but it was mine. The next day, we retrieved from the storage unit all of our belongings, which fit in a single small moving truck. It was days before we even had any furniture. But I was ecstatic.
After a year of living the dream, it’s all I’ve hoped it would be. I’m still an introvert so there are still many neighbors I don’t know well, but I know most of them by sight. Kara can play outside in our yard all by herself. We’ve been able to have friends and family come stay with us. I’ve found a wonderful group of friends—not just people I can talk to, but actual friends.
It’s been an awesome year. Here’s to many more.