We bought our first home when we were young and stupid. I don’t say this to knock being young and stupid. Everyone is young and stupid at some point. We just happened to make a major life choice while also being young and stupid*.
*And in love. Let’s not forget that important detail.
After fourteen years, it’s time to leave this house. The house that after we first walked into it, Lance said, “I could see us there,” in the way you say on a bitter cold winter day, I can see me on a beach with a pina colada in hand relaxing in the sun. A longing but also foretelling way of seeing something.
Move in day, fourteen years ago (Note: My dad accidentally photo bombing in the doorway)
The house Jonathan called The Big House* for the first few years we lived here.
*The house I lived in during college he called The Little House, which it was, and thus the name…
The house whose address I may never find as perfect a replacement. New York Avenue. I will miss your name as much as I will miss my home.
The house we didn’t decorate for at least five years because we weren’t sure how long we’d stay there.
The house I learned to love baking in and made hundreds, if not thousands, of croissants in.
The house two sisters have lived with us in and multiple brothers have crashed at.
The house we brought our 11-month-old rescue puppy to, where at times I found myself on the floor beside his cage crying, I can’t do this, to now finding comfort in the sound of his paws on our wooden floors and looking forward to his eager greeting upon my arrival home*.
*In other words, the house I became a dog person in.
The house where we celebrated birthdays and anniversaries and Thanksgiving breakfasts.
The house we planted our first Christmas tree at and watched it grow from three feet to fifteen.
The house I learned that I don’t have a black thumb—at least, not where succulents are concerned.
The house we felt the blow of loss and rejection and those pesky ups and downs of life.
The house with its quirks and peculiarities and historic charm that at times drove me crazy, but also made me adore it.
The house so many tiny feet have entered and exited with hopefully a love of music encouraged, but even more hopefully the feeling of self-worth strengthened.
The house where my writing has grown and changed, where I’ve found support for my wild ambitions and produced draft upon draft which lie in wait for the world to see.
The house where I’ve time and again been amazed by God’s provisions and how he cares for a wretch like me.
Closing day–September 21st, 2021
Saying goodbye is never easy—even if it is to an inanimate object. Our home has been good to us, but I know the time is right.
Looking back over the past fourteen years, I wouldn’t change a thing. This home has been everything we needed, even during the times we didn’t realize, and I’m grateful for our time spent with it.
331 New York Ave, I won’t forget to remember you.
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