The view from where I sit is, well, a little desolate. A shell.
I’m sitting on the floor of my little Blue Cottage. Empty, except for the curtains that I designed and created with my mom. Looking at the walls I spent hours painting, the kitchen cabinets I refinished. The vision I had for my first little house as a 27-year-old.
And I’m about to hand it all off to another young woman who, I’m sure, has her own visions and dreams of what life here will be like.
It’s funny how quickly things can seem to change.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. Change is exactly what I was hoping for. I had been praying and planning that my time here would be temporary. That sometime in the near future I would get to move up to a bigger, more permanent house (check) with a husband (almost check) and some chubby babies (let’s not move that fast…)
It’s just that it’s exactly as hard as everyone always tells you it’s going to be. Shocking. Giving up your individual identity. Compromising your space, and style, and routine for someone else. Giving up “my” things for “our” things.
It’s a strange, difficult feeling. Right? Or am I alone in this? The feeling that everything that you’ve been wanting is finally coming together, but that life is moving just steam-rolling along and taking you with it?
If you’re confused it’s because a whole year of my life has passed and I haven’t been writing. It’s been HUGE. 2015, the year of turning 30, has not been a disappointment. More details in Part 2!