Seven months ago I got a letter in the mail from my apartment complex with the reminder that it was time to renew my lease. I took a month to pray about what to do because I needed to move, if only simply for the reason that my rent was too high.
Six months ago I made the decision not to resign and thought to myself, I have two months to find a new place to live. Mostly thinking about which surrounding suburb to look for a place in.
Three months ago I moved to Minnesota.
Today I came home from work with the strong desire to make something. I had all the ingredients for soup but my recipe was for making it in a slow cooker. Because it’s been cold with a few little flurries, soup sounded like the right thing. So I decided that I would experiment with making the soup on the stove.
So I cooked the quinoa. I cooked the chicken. I started mixing all the things into the big soup pot and as I did I recapped my day. Something about the stirring motion and watching all the ingredients swirl in the pot slowed my mind enough to think through the small moments of my day. What seemed inconsequential in the moment now flooded my senses. That moment in the hall with this person, that side conversation, that deep breath in while I felt the warm cup in my hands.
It wasn’t a particularly interesting day, a pretty standard Monday. But as I took stock of the day I couldn’t help but smile because I’m starting to feel settled.
I had a conversation recently with a friend about what “home” means. She’s married and has created a home with her family. When she thinks about home and family she thinks of the one she has now – not her family of origin. I think that’s really true of people who are in that stage of life – married with children – they have this space they created with their spouse, their traditions, etc. But for those of us not in that life stage – what is home?
Life pre-marriage tends to have less stability (or so it seems) – so our idea of home and family is still wrapped up in our family of origin. But the problem is, I haven’t really lived in my mom’s house for almost a decade.
I often feel a little stuck in the in-between. My hope is still that someday I’ll be married. I’ll create a space with someone else that is just ours. And because of that everything in this stage seems temporary because I’m renting and I know it’s not long term. But I’m not yet ready to buy a house or a condo. So “my home” needs to stay a concept for a little longer in that this exact space I’m living in – this one bedroom apartment filled with all of my things – is not a forever space.
But that’s okay. It’s all lessons in learning to be content in my stage of life. Hope for the future can still exist but while I’m here in this space, I might as well set up camp.
As I reflected today I thought about how I love my church. I love the people around me. I see the potential of some really meaningful friendships and community spaces. I’m three months in and starting to have rhythm. I’m starting to feel more comfortable reaching out to people. I’m finding my place here in this physical space.
Tonight in the simple act of cooking myself dinner I realized that this place is feeling more and more like a a place I could call home.
*blog title from Tegan and Sara’s The Con
adventures in living an abundant life