Home is Wherever I'm with You...

If you knew me during my twenties, you know there was at least one constant in that decade of my life. Moving. Whether it was of my own volition, or simply a matter of dreadful, unexpected circumstances, I was literally on the move. Once, I tallied all of those moves up out of sheer curiosity, and came to the bewildering realization that I had moved at least once a year from 1997 to 2008. Sometimes, in the craziest of years, I actually found myself moving more than once in a twelve month period. I cycled through apartments like nobody’s business, to the point where I found myself on a first name basis with movers, knew Comcast’s policy regarding cable boxes and setting up service by heart, and could navigate the online requests to forward my mail and bills blindfolded.

Every year, I’d move into a new place and start unpacking, anxious to make each spot feel like home. Yet I never let go of the moving boxes, instead folding them in half and stashing them under my bed, fearing I’d be forced to be pack up again before I could blink. I’d look at my shampoo in the shower, wondering if I’d be moving again before I used up what was left in each bottle. My father, God bless him, was on constant standby, making the drive up from New Jersey with his mighty tool box in the back seat, ready to hang blinds, shelves, wall hooks, and paintings on whichever wall he was directed. Friends would email me around the holidays, trying to track down my most current address with the hopes of actually having a Christmas card arrive where I resided. My mother kept a rotating post-it note on her desk with my most up-to-date address jotted down. There seemed no logic in actually writing it down in her address book when it was bound to change again in six months.

After weeks of painting, decorating, packing, panicking, and involving the blood, sweat, and tears of both of my parents, I moved into my current apartment on July 15th, 2008. This means today marks three years of calling my cozy, adorable, lovely, one bedroom, Home. (Gifts of leather are acceptable if we’re going the traditional route.) I remember being so nervous when I made this move. I worried I’d made a mistake by changing neighborhoods again, I fretted about the cost of movers, stressed over packing. In the end though, I took one of the greatest leaps of my life.

Earlier this summer I was presented with another moving opportunity, thanks to an old friend who is vacating an amazing gem of an apartment. Long have I admired her place, and I’ll admit I did spend a night or two toying with the idea of jumping ship and changing neighborhoods yet again. And yet, even as I mulled I knew deep down I wouldn’t be leaving; that I won’t ever be leaving of my own volition.

For I am head over heels for this little place and, I believe, it is for me too. Want to know the fastest way to make me fall for you? Come visit and tell me that my apartment reminds you of my favorite movie Amelie. A few friends have made that comment unprompted and I am forever indebted to them, for it warms my heart. I’m in love with the sunlight that shines through one of my bedroom windows, pouring directly into my eyes in the morning, beckoning me awake. I know where the floors creak, which of the living room windows needs a shimmy to stay propped open. I recognize which lock sticks when it’s humid, I’ve learned tricks to keep rooms warmer than my antiquated heating system would allow. I know how long it takes for the shower water to get hot, how long the toilet will run after it’s flushed. My next door neighbor gives me a plant every spring; the two of us plant lovers, he congratulating me on the ever expanding potted garden on my back porch. In the winter I’ve snuggled with my cats near my living room window while watching the snow fall, in the summer I have cherished the late nights sitting alone on my back porch, listening to the quieting sounds of the city around me. For someone as on the go as myself, I am always so happy to walk in my front door; to toss my purse or suitcase or gym bag down and wait for the quiet embrace of my little apartment.

I have long since let go of the last moving box, I rarely look at my shampoo bottles with disdain.

I’m home.