Wherever Is Your Heart I Call Home
Those lyrics, from a Brandi Carlisle song, took on new meaning for me last week when I moved out of the house I’ve lived in for more than a decade and in with my boyfriend/spirit animal/best thing that ever happened to me. The decision to co-habitate was so natural, I don’t even remember us making it. Leaving my house, however, was more emotional than I anticipated—but not for the reasons you might think.
The Cottage, as my friends lovingly refer to my 1938 brick Cape Cod, has been my most cherished possession. A place that I made my own, with coats of glossy white paint and a vintage bamboo mirror I spent a small fortune fed-exing from a store in Palm Beach. It’s where I learned how to remodel bathrooms (answer: a good contractor and lots of subway tile), grow peonies, and water my beloved ferns. There are memories here too, of course, but when I walked out of my empty house the only thing that brought tears to my eyes was saying goodbye to something that I poured so much love and creativity into despite my novice decorating skills and limited budget. The Cottage will never be a Pinterest star but to me she was perfect. And now she will be perfect for someone else.
People have asked how I could leave this place (or this porch), but all I can think of is my god, I get to live with my favorite person! Why didn’t we think of this sooner?! Our shiny new condo may not have crown moulding or classic hardwood floors. In fact, it may be my biggest decorating challenge yet (stay tuned…this will be a group effort). But it’s ours. And in it I get to laugh until I cry every day and fall asleep every night with the kindest, funniest, most loving human I know.
It’s my dream home.