I will never be able to be featured on an episode of any real estate show on HGTV. If you know me at all, you probably already know that I'm an HGTV junkie–particularly real estate shows. My DVR is set to record episodes of My First Place, Property Virgins, House Hunters, House Hunters International, Real Estate Intervention … You get the picture. Anyway, people on shows where they shop for homes and move into their new places are always giddy and ecstatic about their wonderful futures and lives in their wonderful new homes. Well, S/O and I are in the throes of moving (into a house that we don't yet own … It's a long story …) and I am, indeed, very excited and very happy about our new home. Being the neuroic person that I am, however, means that I can't JUST be happy and excited about the future without mourning the end of something that will soon be my past.
I moved to La La Land nine years ago into the wonderful apartment we're on the verge leaving. In that time I met, and and came to love almost as a second mom, the African-American lady who was our building manager and friend. She looked after me, checked up on me when S/O was out of town and was just one of those people that you meet in life who let you know that they world is ultimately a good place. Theo passed away suddenly, a few years ago, but the building that she managed continues to glow with her spirit and her love. Leaving that behind is hard.
Over the course of nine years, our building went from being kind of a rough diamond in the rough to just being a diamond. Grumpy, angry tenants eventually moved and got replaced by happy young families with babies, toddlers, and little kids. The little ones went from riding in strollers and screaming "ALOHA!!! ALOHA!!! ALOHA!!!" when we returned from our summer trips to Hawaii to being honor students in some cases and all around nice young adults across the board.
Most of all, though, I'll miss this apartment for being the place where S/O and I nutured what started out as a truly wonderful relationship and which has only gotten better and better over the years. In a lot of ways, this apartment, this home, is the place where I finally "grew up."
As I sit here writing this and the movers are wrapping up all of my furniture and moving it into a big truck out on the street, I can't help but mourn the loss that leaving this home will bring. The opportunity to own a house is truly a gift in these difficult economic times, and someday, I know that this "new", it was built in 1925, house will be "home." Unlike the young beautiful couples on HGTV who shed tears of pure joy over their new places and new spaces, however, my tears of joy will be mixed with tears of sadness and gratitude as I leave this most wonderful place that has truly been …