On the End of Wandering

Today, I dropped off the air conditioning unit that had formerly graced my bedroom at the house of my previous landlord.

Why such a mundane errand merits mention in the opening line of a blog post is because this accomplishment serves as a milestone of sorts—namely, the completion of almost a year’s worth of small yet steady incremental efforts to settle into my current home.

That I even recognized the milestone is itself a milestone: the entire process of settling in took place so slowly and so gradually—in sporadic bursts of frantic activity separated by long periods of relative stability—that I almost didn’t notice that it finally ended today after I trucked off the last piece of furniture that no longer belonged.

And when it did sink in, that it was finally over, I stood in the middle of the living room and took a good hard look at everything that had been done in the space of a year. And it struck me then how much care had gone into the creation of this home: not a single element had been left to chance—every shade of color, every piece of furniture, every item of decoration had been carefully selected or meticulously planned. I could remember the acquisition and the installation of almost every object within view: when and where it had been purchased and how much it had cost. Everything had a story—from the hooks beneath the kitchen cupboards and the clock on the dining room wall to the burlap cat on the living room shelf and the picture frames on the bedroom staircase.

And this kind of painstaking care is fairly characteristic of me when I move into a new home, but this time was different—not just because of the scope of work and the length of time involved—but largely because this was the first home I’d chosen as my permanent address. And now that it’s all dolled up, there’s nowhere else I’d rather go.

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