So remember when I was househunting? Update–we did not find the perfect house. However, we did find one we really love.
The house isn’t what I envisioned when we were looking, at all. It’s a condo, for one, so we share a wall with the neighbors. There’s no dishwasher. The back yard is mostly concrete. It’s on the other side of town from where I’ve lived for the past twenty-some years. (Twenty? Holy smokes!) But it works. We haven’t heard a thing through the shared wall, and no one has complained to us. The kitchen has enough room for a portable dishwasher, and we found a good used one for $125. The back yard has an orange tree, and enough dirt we can plant things. It also has a brick fireplace-type-thing built in. The drive to work is about fifteen minutes unless traffic is bad–that’s enough time to make it worth finding some books on CD.
I love my room. I have a bathroom mostly to myself (sometimes that second bathroom is needed by someone not me) and a walk-in closet to stash all my stuff in.† I have enough room to put my furniture in good locations, I’ve added a bookcase to the furniture in my boudoir, and I STILL have enough room to do Tai Chi without tripping over anything but the cat.
It’s not what we were looking for, but housemate and I instantly reshuffled our priorities when we saw it. Some of that was because of the let-downs we’d already had in viewing places. Some of that was the gorgeous arches between hall and living/dining room. But whatever. We paid the deposit immediately and signed the lease the next day.
I’ve found that life is like that. What I think I want, and what I joyfully accept, are often not the same thing at all. If anyone had told me twenty-some years ago when I moved to the far side of town (fun fact–I now live less than a mile from my first apartment) that at 44 I’d be an office manager at a school, happily self-publishing my books and living in Tucson and just fine with that–well, I’d have politely said “uh huh” and maybe quietly looked up the number for the nearest behavioral health crisis center.
Living does that. As we grow, priorities change. I’m comfortable with the responsibility of my job, where even five years ago I would not have been. I’m good with having complete control of my publishing process. I have friends and ties here in Tucson that I want to maintain, and the climate is not a good enough reason to change that.
So here I am, settling into my not-perfect but perfectly wonderful house. The absolute best thing about it? I have room for a litterbox in my bathroom so I can close my door without repercussions from the feline contingent.
Did I mention my desk is also in my bedroom?
A closed door between me and the world! What a luxury!
†Related: Housemate has been asked to not let me near any kind of office supply store for at least five years.