Hubby and I recently started talking about moving. I bought my home 13 years ago. I loved knowing I was a single woman in my 20’s buying property for no one but herself. I wasn’t waiting for marriage or for anyone to save me before making the leap, either. I have fond memories of my realtor walking me through the house, loving the layout, my walk-in closet and getting excited about being less than 10 minutes from work and the city.
I was so proud on the morning of my closing. My family and friends (except for one who was patronizing towards me) were happy for me. I felt like I had won, especially when I gripped the keys in my hands for the first time.
All these years later, I still feel a sense of pride for that young woman but I am also ready to say goodbye. I am at a stage where I know that although Hubby and I haven’t physically grown out of this place, emotionally we have moved on. I also realized there’s no permission needed to no longer hold on. I don’t need a security blanket.
We are slowly but surely making the changes we need. I am in no hurry to go. I am at peace with our decision even if we don’t know where we’ll be in a year or two.
I think this is what is called acceptance.