“I have to live with a Boy!”
“And when I told her that I was gonna be moving in with Chandler, she was really supportive…. …You were so great. You made it so easy. And now you have to leave. AND I HAVE TO LIVE WITH A BOY!!!!” –Monica, Friends
I’m no stranger to the “I feel you, sister” nod and sigh toward a fictional character. Monica especially points out my foibles in melodramatic style, causing me to cringe occasionally when I recognize myself and look around sheepishly – “I’m not THAT bad, am I?” But I often am, and I know it and I’m working on it.
Hence, this post is part of my “working on it”.
Confession: I love my bower with a passion bordering on religious zeal. I love my candles, I love my red toaster-oven, I love having a sanctuary – designed, paid for, loved and maintained by yours truly and defended with the ferocity of a threatened Mama Bear.
Now, however, I’m entering a New Phase. And, as much as I like to talk big about being a wild and free, leaf-blown-in-the-wind-without-a-care-type; I’m totally not. It’s all bluster. The truth of the matter is, I love Home. I love security. I love clean things and pretty things and being able to find a thumb tack right away because it’s right where I left it.
I have a couple of months of transition coming up, during which I will be living in the graciously offered “Spare Oom” of my soon-to-be cousins, (EEEEE!!! oh-my-gosh-I’m-getting-married-squeal) and giving up the Bower.
I openly admit that I’m dragging my feet. I’ve fought long and hard to finally have a place of MY OWN, and giving it up with dignity feels nearly impossible. But, I’ve realized something – in my reluctance to close this chapter, I’ve missed out on the excitement of the one to come.
As Adam reminded me last night – I have to think about what leaving means. And he’s absolutely right. I’m trading my Saturday morning walk to the Farmer’s Market for waking up every morning to the Love of my Life. I’m trading decorating my tiny home for creating OUR home, one filled with love and memories and a relationship which runs deeper and is more fulfilling than simple “single freedom”. I’m trading driving home (or Adam driving me, because he’s chivalrous like that,) after midnight for getting to stay, right where I am, cozy on the couch with my fella. I’m trading single-hood for marriage.
And even though my homey little heart aches at losing its nest, I know I’m trading it for a better one. I get the awesome privilege of living with a Boy, and after January 18th, that’s all the home and security I need.
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