scribblechic

In the time between falling in love with a new house and returning home for goodbyes, I have begun critiquing our choices with measures of comparison; the work of settling one home over the familiar comforts of another.

There is a temptation in comparison to contort fact with sentiment, filtered imperfections misconstruing truth. I find myself grieving pieces of my old home as if they always existed without the discomfort of change. For today I want to remember the effort beneath our comfort.

Wooden floors that were a patchwork of progress over years of divided attention, have become an assumption. I have forgotten the progress of change as I compare carpeting and wood grain.

Floor plans and color palettes, choices made permanent by the cost of change, have been distorted by familiarity. We are not loosing a larger space, we are gaining preferences lost in the extensive expenses of a past design.

Our yard, only newly an oasis, was first an unused, overgrown forgotten space that we thoughtfully carved into our favorite escape. It was a lengthy labor of love. It is also an overwhelming commitment.

The house we made our home was never our ideal; it was a product of concentrated efforts to remap a choice we regretted into something we came to love.

This thief of comparison is an unkind friend. I am choosing to remember the work behind our choices and the truth of old regret uncluttered by nostalgia as we create new lists for settling another house into a home.

I will no longer look at naked windows without seeing an opportunity to dress our rooms with warmth. I will sketch trees upon an empty yard to mark our years together. Mindful planning and cautious budgeting.

It is a time to center my thoughts between appreciation for what I’ve known and gratitude for what will come; learning and exploring a new space with the wisdom of old experiences. No longer stealing joy or inviting doubt with unfair comparisons.

Tagged: Family, Home, Moving, Musings