Full disclosure: I’m not writing AT ALL right now. Just finding time to blog is a massive struggle in my life at this particular moment. This has been a hard winter generally with lots of challenges pulling me in different directions. Our family has dealt with a comical amount of sickness this season, plus the typical hardships of parenting a 16-month-old baby who’s teething and won’t hold still for even a minute. As if life wasn’t crazy enough, my husband and I made the absolutely insane decision to buy a new house for Christmas. Our life has flipped completely upside down. And that was before my husband’s car ended up in the shop and my one and only pair of glasses I’ve ever owned bit the dust (rest in peace, my friend).
So no, I don’t actually have time to sit down and write at this moment. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not thinking about writing all the time as I’m packing boxes and begging my daughter not to eat Styrofoam off the floor. I have a habit of thinking about every life event from the perspective of storytelling since, well, I’m a writer. And we think that way. So right now, I can’t help but think about the story I’ve lived out in this house I’m packing up—and how finishing a story can be incredibly sad.
I Don’t Handle Change Well
I happen to be an incredibly introverted creature of habit. That means that I like my routines. I yearn for the familiar, the safe, and the peaceful. So big life changes like becoming a mother and moving have been particularly painful for a person like me. Even beginning and ending books I’ve written has been a rollercoaster of emotions for me.
I’ve expressed before that the very first book I ever finished felt like a crumby breakup. And that’s not an exaggeration. My second book ended more gently and launched me into a flurry of writing that resulted in a four-book series. I absolutely adored every second of writing that project. But when I reached the end of it . . . I kind of never got back on the horse. I’ve been struggling with two perpetually unfinished projects since and don’t really care to admit how long this cycle has been going.
But you get the idea. Finishing a story is the ultimate act of letting something close to your heart end. Then starting a brand new story is an exercise of foraying into the unknown. Into the challenging and unfamiliar and do-I-even-remember-how-to-write-a-first-chapter-anymore? Beginnings and endings have a way of forcing us to grow and reevaluate. It can be unsettling in the extreme, and I think it’s the anticipation of feeling unmoored by new projects that makes finishing a story even more intimidating.
If It’s that Hard in Fiction, Imagine What It’s Like in Real Life
Some people are built for adventure. They crave newness and action and fresh experiences to keep themselves feeling alive and stimulated. I view people like this kind of the way I view exotic zoo animals. They can be both fascinating and unnerving. How can one stand so much change in their lives and even seek it out? On purpose. These people are basically the opposite of everything I am.
I like order. I crave warmth and peace and my same old YouTube channels and an evening of canceled plans. When I discover something on the menu that I like, it takes A LOT to get me to order something completely new and risk trying something I might later regret. So when I find a place to call home, I am never in a rush to leave it and start all over again.
Although I’m dreading moving right now, I’m also doing it because I know that it’s time to move on. I’m truly excited to live in the area and the house that we chose. It’s a BEAUTIFUL house that I can absolutely picture turning into our forever home. Trust me, I would never move for anything less.
Because the House I’m in Now Has Been a Dream
I realized just yesterday that I’ve lived in my current house for eight and a half years. That’s the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere, including the house I lived in as a teenager and still return to for family holidays. My current house is the home I saved up for and bought all by myself when I was still single. This house and I found each other at a critical juncture of my life. I honestly try not to think about what would have happened if I hadn’t bought it. There are many important events that wouldn’t have unfolded the way they should have to get me where I am now.
This is the house that gave me strength during a very difficult time and allowed me to feel truly at home after a decade of renting. If I hadn’t bought this house, there’s no way I would have met the man I eventually married. This house is where Andy and I fell in love, celebrated our first Christmas, and finally got around to telling each other how we felt about each other.
This is the house we came home to the day we got married, overjoyed and exhausted and starting a new chapter that we couldn’t wait to live out. Together. It’s the house where we became parents, shedding many, many tears over our positive pregnancy test on a snowy and magical Christmas Eve. Then nine months later it was the house that we brought Juliet home to and started our wild and imperfect adventure as a family of three.
Now I’m Finishing a Story: The Story of Me in This House
I’ve cried a lot in the past month thinking about moving on from this house. About ending this chapter and letting a new family build their own memories and happy days in these four walls. It feels right that I would let the magic of the house bless somebody else now that my own family has outgrown it. I guess that’s my way of paying it forward. We really are ready to move on, but I’m still processing just how much this house has given me. It’s possible to grieve finishing a story while also savoring the new exciting story you’re about to start. And realize that endings are the perfect time to pause mentally and remember to have gratitude.
I’m sure I would’ve still lived a great life if I’d just happened to settle down in a different house on a different street. Maybe Andy and I still would’ve found each other eventually. But I have to say, the life that’s unfolded in this house has turned out to be an incredibly happy and spectacular one. And I wouldn’t change these eight and a half years we’ve spent together for anything in the world.
This Is My Love Letter to the Best House So Far
I actually hope the new house we’re about to move into will surpass this first house eventually. But for now, this first house I’ve ever owned is the reigning champion of all the places I’ve lived. We’ve had a good run, my friend. Parting is such sweet sorrow, but the fact that it hurts to leave just means that our years together were good ones.
