This week marked one-year since we moved into our house.
In spring of 2015, my husband and I were living together in a rented flat with no garden, a rule of no pets, no space to store his bike, no parking spaces for our two cars, and although it was spacious to live in, our parents still held a lot of our furniture and boxes of belongings.
When we found out for sure where his job would be moved to in September, we spent May looking at mortgage options, meeting banks, and looking online.
In June, we booked up a Saturday with house viewings. In the space of a single day, we viewed seven properties. I’d done all of the preliminary searching, showed him the top 15-20 or so online, and then tried to book viewings for the one day we both had free.
I had a favourite from the outset, but kept that quiet: when buying your first home, it felt important that he make his own decisions just as I had made mine. We came home with our hearts set on the same property. It wasn’t perfect: very few houses are — especially for first-time buyers on a limited budget. But we spent the Sunday looking at the commutes, and local shops, bus routes and so on. It was a better match for our needs than we thought we would be able to get.
We put in our offer on the Monday morning, and negotiated price for the next day or two. After a long couple of months dealing with paperwork, on September 14th, I sat in a colleague’s house (we’d effectively been made homeless by paperwork delays so a kind colleague offered us a space to sleep on our air mattress for a week!) surrounded by our belongings, waiting for the call to move in.
A year later, we still have a few boxes to unpack properly, and some furniture is still flat-packed in the garage. But we have a sofa and a bed, we got married and had a honeymoon in Iceland, we brought home two cats on Valentine’s Day who are snuggly and beautiful, and we have a vegetable patch and berries growing up the fence. I even have my “kitchen herb garden” just outside the back-door.
Sometimes in the moment, it’s hard to see how things will move forward, but I’ve definitely found over the past couple of years that life has it’s own sense of flow. Time moves forward, and things will change.
And one day, I’ll unpack the boxes blocking my writing desk and chair; and stop typing novels on the sofa.