THIS IS HOME

We were with a group of people when we first heard that this house would be ours.  Some of them we’d known for a little while, and some we’d only met that night.  But when Mark got off the phone with the news they all cheered as though we were old friends, raised their glasses, congratulated us heartily and wished us well.  It was a milestone, and made all the better by their company.

When I arrived at the house yesterday, the first morning that it was ours, I was alone.  I dropped Mark off at work and drove here with a carload of all the things we’ve had with us in a hotel room for the past month.  That was temporary.  This, I told myself as I came up the driveway, as I turned the key in the lock, as I went from window to window to open the shades – this is home.

I feel as though the road we traveled to arrive at this moment stretches behind us for thousands of miles – but it has only been a year.  A year ago we were only just imagining what it would be like if we settled here for good.  We were only just arriving at the first stages of abstract planning, of what-if and maybe-so.  We were setting our sights on things grander than what we’ve ended up with.  But what we have now is much, much better.

I walked through the empty house, up and down the stairs, and told myself, One day this will be familiar, normal, mundane, and you won’t think anything of it.  One day you’ll walk these floors as a matter of routine, bang your elbows on the doorjambs, turn these knobs without a second thought.  A part of me that likes to borrow trouble was already mourning that loss.  Life would be full and bright and glorious if every day seemed as momentous as this one.

This house, though – it has seen people come and go.  It is used to routine.  It has thrived on everyday rituals for decades.  I want the steadiness this house can offer; I’m ready for some things to be constant.  I will walk these rooms every day and be glad that they are always the same rooms.

This is home.