I am moving house.
I have been in my home for eight and a half years; the longest time I have lived anywhere. Not only that but I am now ready to commit to property and within the next two years will buy my own home. I think it is safe to say that after 44 years I am no longer a commitment phobe, and I’m pretty chuffed with myself for that.
I have always felt the need to be free, unencumbered, unrestricted. I have wanted to be able to afford to roam. My IVF journey has afforded me the ability to put down roots; on the river of completion I am.
I hate moving. The physical act of moving so I’m hiring removalists. This will be the first time I have done this in my eighteen moves. And this will be my second last move (bless). I love packing and definitely unpacking, but the loading and unloading, well, time for someone else to do that bit.
I feel in my bones that this move is signalling bigger changes than just location. It feels so right.
IVF is so expensive. It was my deposit for a home. It was also my priority for over five years. I do not regret it because it has brought me here. But it meant that I could not buy now. When I received confirmation earlier this week that I did not have a suitable guarantor, it had the potential to instil fear and frustration. A friend jumped in to allay that. She and her mum have literally just bought a property and wanted to rent it out for a year.
Hello new tenant!
And it provides me with a timeline. There will not be much spending over the next year; I will be saving like crazy for a deposit. I think I can almost make it.
Fate does work in mysterious ways. This move feels right. And the next time I move, my last, will be unencumbered. I will be free to be an adult lol. That is, free to become a prisoner to a mortgage.
And for the first time in my life, I’m good with that.
Maybe as we age we start to define freedom differently.
I’m excited! I’m moving!