I’ve been struggling, lately. Feeling stressed and unsettled and like I just ought to be working to fix things, except I can’t quite identify what’s broken and mostly don’t even have the energy to try.
This picture was taken in my last apartment, which I’d lived in (at the time) for about six months. I moved out of it earlier this year, and by the time I left, that apartment felt settled. It felt like home. Everything had a place and I had a routine. It just worked. It was my imperfect sanctuary.
But looking at the photo, I can see how far I still had to go, six years ago, before my home would feel that. No one but me can tell, but I know how much work that fish tank was, how many times I moved those bookshelves, how long it took to hang up those mirrors and picture frames.
I still feel unsettled, stressed in my new house. The new house is not the cause; it’s just not yet my sanctuary. But this is a timely reminder: we’ve been here before. We’ve worn other changes. Things don’t fit right at first, but they soften. And I continually start out uncomfortable, and then stretch and get broken in, and soon enough things will be cozy again.