As an 11 year old, I (well, my parents and I) made the decision to not be a maid in Mardi Gras. Taking off weeks at a time for school just didn't seem like fun. So, we took my money that I had received from my grandparents and invested it.
And it sat...
And it sat...
When I moved to Chicago, I considered buying something, but didn't...buying something for 3 years didn't make sense to me.
And then I moved here. Here where expectations were blown out of the water, where I couldn't find a place to belong, thought it was me, realized it wasn't. Here where I've discovered how strong I could be, and ultimately a place where I can call it home. Despite all that happened here, all the pain, I have found joy.
And on the eve of my move, I am realizing how overwhelmed I feel. Boxes still need to be packed. Things need to be cleaned. Life needs to slow down...
I'm ready, I keep telling myself that. I'm ready for this day, for tomorrow, and I'm ready to be done. To feel the carpet underneath my feet and know it's mine. To paint a wall one day and change it the next.
To be away from a neighborhood filled with so many bad memories.
So, here I go...a commitment that I can't believe I'm taking and fall head first into the deep unknown of being a home owner...
And while tomorrow I'll be moving, Sunday holds the day of simply being in my new home...and realizing it's all mine...
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