My New Home

Finally, art is on the walls.

For at least six months, I’ve said one thing repeatedly: “I just want to see my art on the walls.”

This visual has been my association with stability and calm, my motivator when I feel lost, and my answer when people ask “what I want.”

I’ve dreamt of the day I’d unlock a door and be greeted by my small curation of decor. That’s when I’ll be able to exhale. That will be the sign that the next chapter can begin.

I’ve prayed for direction on where to root and for help to discern what’s “right.”

Graciously, after a long season of waiting, I have those answers.

…And I don’t feel resolute.

One room at a time!

Admittedly, I thought I’d keep (mentally) “moving upward” when I found my new home.

Instead, I feel a bit frozen. And honestly, I’m embarrassed by this.

My internal dialogue: “Wells, you were able to do sooooo many hard things this year. Now you feel lost? You have your art on the walls!! Get with the program girl! Now, you just get to start. This is the easiest thing yet!!”

But, is it?

Last night, I had a long talk with a close friend which helped me see that it’s not.

Making a new home when you didn’t want to give your old one up is hard. Choosing to attach new associations to old possessions is hard. Making new friends when “where did you move from” requires a monologue is hard.

I thought permanence would only bring peace– I was wrong. There’s a lot of pain, too.

But it’s weird, because there’s also so much promise.

Everything is simply both.

I’m comfortable being solo, but it’s hard to process that I am. I get emotional going to the grocery store, but cooking a meal is satisfying. I’m excited to nest, but I don’t know how long this space will be mine.

I can’t see what’s on my horizon, but I do see my art on the walls.

Hello, Birmingham. I’m grateful to be here 🤍