I’ve lived in the new house for a little over a week now, and there is one question that seems to keep coming up.
“So, it’s just you?”
The man who came to turn on the gas asked me. The little old ladies at the Lutheran church asked me. The cashier making small talk at Wal-Mart asked me. The friends I haven’t really kept up with asked me.
Everyone wants to know if it really is just me living in this house.
Of course, it reminds me of an episode of Sex and the City. Miranda buys her first apartment, and is constantly asked that same question.
So, it’s just you?
Yep. Just me.
Such a big apartment to buy for just you.
I have a lot of shoes.
Maybe the boyfriend will move in?
No boyfriend. Just me.
So my answer to everyone who asks is the same.
Yep. Just me.
Well, me and Coco.
And I’m ok with that right now.
Unlike Miranda in that episode, I’m not having panic attacks. Maybe because I’m just renting?
But really, I’m enjoying my new place instead of panicking. I’m decorating however I want. Pink accents in the bedroom, shabby chic French guest room, feminine étoile through the whole house. Because I can! I don’t need permission to buy a new comforter or curtains. I don’t need to leave room in the dresser or closet for someone else. I can arrange the kitchen exactly how I want.
That’s what I’m focusing on now. Enjoying where I am. Enjoying my singleness, instead of worrying it will last forever. Enjoying living alone, instead of wishing someone was here to eat dinner with me.
The future will come. God willing, I’ll meet someone eventually.
Today, I’m going to take a deep whiff of the flowers I bought for myself and look out the kitchen window. I’m going to soak in the day. And be happy exactly where I am.