“A “Time” for “Home”…

I’ve been increasingly curious about time since my husband left me. I think I was in this “isolated bubble” so to speak. A place where I lived and didn’t observe much around me that didn’t include him. Now I have lived alone. I’ve traveled alone. Something I never really did before. I never wanted to settle down again. Have a place called “home”, because let’s face it, he was everything I ever knew of, that was called a “home.” Now all of that is gone so I have had to put things into different perspectives.

I recently moved. Moved to Chicago, Illinois. I signed a lease. Which was hell for me for anyone who actually knows me. Because I hold an Illinois real estate license and renting is truly “throwing money out the window.” But I needed to plant some kind of “roots.” I accepted a job offer and I needed a place to “stay” for a while. So unfortunately I found a small 600 square foot flat in “the city” which I absolutely adore. If it was a co-op I would definitely buy in, but it isn’t, so I can’t. I signed a lease and I have approximately ten months left before I need to “vacate.”

A time for Planting “Roots?”

Now I’ve never been one to securely “plant roots” unless I was sure I wanted to be there for “a while.” In Kentucky, “before Eric,” I never really lived in one place for more than a year. So I was always ready to “up and move.” Once Eric and I “settled” and we moved to Shelbyville, Ky, it took time before we actually hung stuff on the walls and “made it our own.” We ended up there for 20 years, but that’s another story.

In 2019 when we moved to Normal, Illinois, I was in my house for six months before I hung anything on the walls. The lease here in Chicago is literally for 11 months. It’s a “short term.” I have about ten months left so I consider it a “short stay.” Yet I find myself succumbing to wanting to make this place “a home.” I have no idea where this came from except the fact there has been no “home” for me since Eric left in June of 2020. Nothing felt permanent enough to really call it “home” since then.

“So what is happening” I ask myself? Why am I calling this “home”, and wanting to make it feel “homey?”

The only conclusion I can draw is that I have this instinctual need to now call some place “home.” It has been about two and half years since Eric died. Right then I committed to walk the country to whatever end I wanted. To do whatever “whim” I chose, at that moment. And I did that. But now, I have actually chosen my path, instead of letting the path choose me.

“Final Analysis”

I feel like I am on uncharted waters, not knowing where “the wind will take me next.” I am open to whatever presents itself but all of this is new to me. A new time. A new place. Something completely different from what I ever imagined for myself. All I can tell myself is “hold on, the ride is just beginning.”

And so we go. Into what feels like a time distortion. The unfamiliar. “The unknown.” Please comment if you feel any of this too. I want to hear your story!

I love you all. xxooC