I've lived in my own house for one year. It's been a good year, with lots of changes and lots of firsts. But every now and then I am reminded that I live alone in this space. Sure, Zoey (my dog) is here, but at the end of the day I'm here all alone. I have my family and I have my friends and I am very happy to have both. I really like my job and have plenty of things that keep me busy and make me happy.
Sometimes I just wonder if this is how it's going to be, like, always.
When I moved to North Carolina I felt like I was running away from home. Sure, my parents were here by then, but I just picked up and left my whole life in California. People who loved me. Friends I still miss (especially on New Year's Eve). I used to think that being alone was my punishment for doing something so reckless. Have I just imagined that?
I think at some point there was a choice to be made and I was so astonished at the repercussions of one, I forgot to make any others. Instead I stood still, waiting for the next choice, waiting for things to happen to me instead of making things happen. After a few years, I changed my mind. I chose to buy my house. So, with all the growing pains of this past year and nothing but the future ahead of me, I'm hoping for no more wasted years.