In the coming and going of the holidays – in the 24 hours between my son returning to Canada and my escaping to Barbados for a few days – I moved apartments. Although I loved the old apartment and landlord, the need for change came to a head in November, and in the end was fairly simply achieved: a friend & colleague was completing her time as a CUSO International staff person and returning home to the UK, and I was able to simple slide over into the apartment she was vacating. No new paperwork, the rent continues to be paid as it was. Easy peasey.

The new apartment is a studio, something I’ve never lived in before. It’s small (11 x 27 feet) clean and decently furnished (with a few tweaks) and much more my style than the old place, lovely as it was. It is ‘likkle but tallawah.’ Best of all, it has a very modern, quiet, clean never-being-used-by-14-other-people laundry machine right in the main space. Of course having the bed in the living/dining room is not necessarily ideal for someone who likes to entertain, but it’s only for a couple of months, and I wasn’t using most of the big apartment anyway.

Moving out of the shared apartment was a milestone move for me. It was a huge break from my usual people-pleasing, put up with things through gritted teeth, pretend things are fine while resenting everything, refusal to state what I need. It required several tough and honest conversations of the type I normally shy away from. It was not easy, but it was completely worthwhile.

I like my new little space. I haven’t spent much time here yet but it already feels like home. The street is quiet and tree-lined, The yard is properly cared for. The space is well used. My commutes will change little; though I will miss walking by my friendly neighbourhood craft vendors each morning and receiving my ‘little sister’ blessings. I’m still in my familiar part of town.

I am home.

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