I moved into my house in Cleveland on January 3. It was rough from the start. Middle of winter. No friends and family around (except V who lived just two and a half miles away). And no internet. I had a whole week off to do nothing but set up my house and relax but let’s be real. I got my house together after the first few days and I’m not that great at relaxing. Especially with no internet.
The reasons I moved to CLE in the first place were:
- Add some excitement to my life! Get out of the beautiful but boring suburb I lived in.
- See people more often. And not just people I know. I mean people in general. I didn’t see many of them when I lived like a recluse in the suburbs and worked just 10 minutes from my house.
- Entertainment, dining, etc. is more diverse in Cleveland.
- Be closer to my boyfriend (yes…I’m one of those girls).
Things I didn’t anticipate:
- Leaving my home in Medina was bittersweet because that was the first place I’d lived 100% completely on my own. By myself. No roommates. I picked it and every single thing in that house for that house. Now when I see those things in my house in CLE I just think how out of place they seem because I remember them from where they were in my old house.
- Being even FARTHER from my parents stinks. They’re over an hour away now. And I actually want to see them!
- Having few (read: just one) friends in CLE is sad. Thankfully the one friend I do have close by (and by close by I mean 20 minutes away) is my college roommate. And she’s one of my best friends so that’s good!
- In rush hour, work is 45 minutes away from home. On a good day! So I have quite the commute again.
- Crime in the city is high. I knew that before I moved but now that I live where crime literally happens on my street, right outside my front door, it kind of makes me scared.
Needless to say, this past year the place I go back to after work was just…a place. It felt like a big storage unit for my belongings that I went to when I wasn’t working or at my boyfriends house (where I spent as much time as I could because I didn’t want to be at my house).
Except recently V moved in with me and despite the house bursting at the seams with “stuff” it instantly felt like home the very first week he was there.
Home really is where your heart is. It’s where you’re comfortable. Safe. It’s where you go to get away from the world. Falling into that description has always been my parents house. My boyfriends house. And now, finally, my house.
I can’t wait to go home and do stupid chores (I love to check the mail every day even though I get 0 mail). Sometimes I make dinner. I work in the office. I wait for V to get home and we chat.
It’s the weirdest feeling. The place whose walls felt so much like a nighttime prison now feel like a blanket fort of comfort.
My house is finally home.
