If I said we didn’t move much when I was a child, that’s an understatement. From the ages of three to seventeen I stayed in the same place. My parents and sisters still live in the same house, but I have started to move around.
The experience of packing is strange you put your whole life into boxes, put the boxes in a truck and then try and start your life again.
My father, the supermodel.
I’ve learned a few things from this move; I’ve learned that taking possession of a house is complicated and messy (literally and figuratively) and I’ve learned that no matter how “grown up” you think you are, having your dad in your corner makes all the difference in the world.
But despite the challenges, above all I am grateful. I am grateful for this roof over my head, grateful for housemates who feel like family, grateful for going back to a wonderful school where I can learn to my hearts content.
I’ve also learned that I’m excellent to putting IKEA furniture together, and I’m an absolute wizard at unpacking. While my housemates are living out of boxes I’m pretty much set up, there’s still painting to do, and art to put up, but the place looks good if I do say so myself.
I don’t have many tips for moving, but I know a place doesn’t feel like “home” for me till I put my books away, so that will always make even the most difficult move a little easier. This and setting up my desk and computer mean that I can actually get some work done, and feel productive.
In the end a move is a fresh start, it’s new paint and colour schemes. It’s brand new furniture and it’s one of the most “grown up thing” one can do.
I’m sort of at a loss for words today, though the list of DIY projects that I have planned for this house are exciting, they’re also kind of scary. There’s a lot of work to do, but we’re going to make this place a home.
I was feeling a hell of a lot more eloquent the night before I left, so I’m finishing this with an excerpt from my journal.
It’s rare that we can look back and pinpoint the day when a change happened. Usually change is gradual, but this one seemed to begin all at once. February Eighth, when that big snowstorm, as everyone rushed to get home all I wanted to do was stay in the dorms.
I knew then it was beginning, first it’s a dorm room, then it’s a house with friends, your first apartment, the first time you move in with a partner, the first property you own. Each of these things changes you, just a little bit. Then one day “home” becomes “Where I grew up”
This is a beginning, this is an end.
This is a change, and I think I’m ready.
If not? Well I’ll figure it out.
I’m posting a lot about this move over on my instagram like this mini “room tour video”
What do you do to make a new house feel like a home?