I was changing out the laundry a few minutes ago and was hit with a sudden and rather intense pang of sadness and loss. For the first time since Indi and I started this crazy journey, I missed my house.
My housing history has been fairly stable. When I graduated high school, I was faced with a choice: either get an apartment here in town or move to Topeka with my folks. As I was enjoying my career at Blockbuster, planned to go to Tulsa Community College that fall, and wasn’t keen on a long-distance relationship with my first girlfriend…I decided to stay. I got an apartment @ Southport (right along Highway 169 near 61st) with Aubrey and started working full-time. However, our relationship ended shortly thereafter (I’m sure I’ll have a relationship-focused post at some point) and I was on my own. By November, I was unable to sustain myself on a solo income and had to pull up stakes and head to Kansas.
I lived with my folks for about a year and a half, and then moved back down to Tulsa. Although I started by moving in with a friend, it wasn’t long before I situated and got an apartment of my own. I lived there for about a year and then bought my first house. I met Indi a year and a half (or so) later and shortly after getting married we moved into our most recent home out here in Broken Arrow. That was three years ago.
I am very thankful for my gracious hosts. Without them, this trip wouldn’t be possible. Nothing can replace the sense of self-reliance and control that living in your own home gives you. There’s always something that I’d like to change or a rule that I have to live by that I otherwise wouldn’t.
I guess I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I’ve slept in my own bed under my own roof. And it’ll be much, much longer before I do again.