Yesterday was the four-year anniversary of closing on my house and today is the anniversary of moving in to it. Buying a house was one of the hardest, scariest, best things I ever did. I still get a little thrill every time I round the corner and my house comes into view.
I fell in love with the house at the first pictures, but worried about the location being too far out of town. That all went out the window the minute I stepped through the front door. Driving, schmiving, this house was beautiful. It was only the second house toured and the first one with my realtor. And every other house after it paled in comparison.
The details, the layout, the kitchen, I loved it all. (Seriously. Look at this kitchen. I’m pretty sure I drooled when I walked in the first time.)
I looked at several other houses but in retrospect, it was pretty obvious where my heart was the whole time. Closing on the house felt like such a triumph. I bought a house! All by myself! It’s my very own!
And whenever I think about that, It reminds me just how lucky I am. Owning a house is such a luxury, especially for a single income. For crying out loud, having somewhere, anywhere to LIVE is a luxury. I have a place to come home to every single night, no questions. I have a roof over my head and a furnace that works and doors that lock. I am warm and safe and comfortable. And I try very, very hard not to take that for granted, especially when the weather is as extreme as it has been lately.
Maybe sometime soon, when it’s light out (and I’ve cleaned the house), I’ll post some updated pictures since the ones above are all from the original real estate listing. It has actual furniture, stuff on the walls, and junk in the drawers. It has books on shelves, clothes in the closets, and kitty nose prints on the windows. It’s my home and it has become one of my very favorite places in the whole wide world.