Just seven more days left. One week.

After nearly three years of living alone for the first time, that period of my life will be over. Hopefully, that will be the one and only time.

This time three years ago I had no idea what was around the corner for “us.” But I knew something had changed. He was different. Maybe I was too. But the “us” that we had been had left and I’m not sure when that happened. But after working up the courage to ask the question days later, my journey as a single person began, and I was very reluctant. I didn’t go into this stage kicking and screaming though, it was more like sobbing and wailing.

Months later, after settling into my nest, I was still unhappy with the situation, but I was adjusting. Another couple of months later I began to date. Not the easiest thing to do in a pandemic. I met a couple of people, and I found that I could still be wanted by a man, and it felt so good. I wanted more of that. I needed that. And then I met S and I basked in the joy of being wanted and loved and understood.

Fast forward to today and I’m packing again. I’m ready to leave my nest and start a new chapter. I’m a sentimental woman, and this means that I spend a lot of time reminiscing. I’ve been thinking about my first few days here, when there were so many emotions running wild, through me and on this blog: the frustration with the move itself, settling in, and figuring out what I wanted for myself.

I am hopeful that this is it. I wrote a while back about the both of us going into this with lots of communication, and we both want to give each other space. We’ve both enjoyed being on our own, but being together is more important right now. So with one week to go, today I’m off to take in Artisphere, the annual arts festival downtown, maybe do a little more packing, and await S’s return from visiting his mother. And in just a few days, when we refer to “going home” we will both be talking about the same place. That’s definitely something to look forward to.