This morning I cleaned our Apartment for the last time.
We lived in the upstairs of this house for 12 months. Not unlike my Life List stipulated: Live somewhere new for 6 months or a year.
Last July (circa 2010) we were in love with this “vacation from responsibility”. No lawn to mow! (Also no yard to play in). Less floor space to clean! And clutter! And care for! (Also less space to escape, breathe, be alone).
There are negatives to every positive.
I made a Flickr album of my favorites memories from the last 12 months, right here.
This past March I talked about house numbers and the comfort I found in having something similar about them going from one house to the next.
The house we spent the last year in was a half – 65 1/2. We tried to buy 116 and then 576 … and now we live in 135.
A complete disregard for the pattern of my life. It’s about time.
Looking back and forgetting the last month and it’s struggles, It’s hard not to be completely smitten with the past. The way our kids learned to respect each other, sharing space. The way I learned to let go of so many preconceptions about how a family is “supposed” to live, act, be. The ups and downs of being Fluid for a change.
The fact that at the very beginning of this journey I found myself relying on God, talking to him constantly – to being embarrassed to say His name out loud.
I’ve gone a lot of places this year emotionally – but 180 is not where I intend to stay.
Like in the above photo, somewhere along the line I needed to be reminded that it was ok to LOVE me. Not the “let’s have a nice day LOVE yourself!” stuff, but the real deal. I’m messy, emotional and dramatic and you know what? It’s FANTASTIC – Love yourself kind.
I have my own magic and I get scared of it.
It’s entirely possible that the entire uprooting of our life generally uproots all kinds of stuff inside of me – allowing a few things to finally air out once again. I own it. I own it all.