We Grew Up Here
Today is the last day in my loft. I have an endless to-do list before movers come tomorrow but somehow I find myself, here, on my couch, writing. I kept having all these flashbacks and thoughts about my first home so I stopped to write them all down.
I moved into my loft 5 years ago, almost exactly. July 27, 2017. It feels like another lifetime. I was 25, transitioning back into being myself after a loss that devastated me straight into a nasty relationship that I had just exited after 2.5 years. I had found myself stuck in a relationship that I had wanted and needed out of for over a year, unable to leave. It’s a hard thing to describe, being stuck in a bad living situation if you’re never been there before. When I decided I was ready, I told my mom I was ready and she called my best friend (love you, La) who found me an apartment I could move into within the week. I secretly signed a lease and I wasn’t able to say I was leaving until after I had actually signed a lease somewhere else & I got myself (with a lot of help) out. It’s not something I’ve talked about publicly but was the most transformative part of my life. I signed a three month lease and planned to search for my first home and move ASAP. I ended up being there 9 months as I searched and searched for a place that felt like home. I learned a lot of hard lessons during this period and ended up here, at this loft, at home.
When I walked in, I knew it felt like home. I can’t pin point it but after looking at 40+ places in nine months, I just knew. It is, the first home I’ve had of my own. Not with family, not with friends, not with a boy. Just Obi & I. Moving in here marked a massive transition in my life, a time to be able to focus on myself, to love myself, to grow and change and do what I loved without being held back by the person I was living with. It took awhile, but we found our groove in time.
We grew up a here. 25 quickly became 30, Obi was 3 and I blinked and he turned 8. Friends, relationships, jobs have come and gone but coming home with Obi always stayed constant. No matter where I was in the world, no matter what I was doing, I’ve always loved coming home to this loft.
Two years ago I had just moved back to my loft after spending 5 months in Madison with my family during the lockdown. Not so long after, I met a boy (he’s really more of a man than anyone I know but for some reason at 30 years old I still feel like I’m a girl and men are boys- don’t at me). We were living in a pandemic so we literally didn’t see anyone else and as you can imagine, we got to know each other pretty quickly. It wasn’t the typical whirlwind romance that the beginning of dating can be because we literally never left the house (it’s still something I’m coping with- wishing we had the whirlwind, typical dating experience in the beginning), but I wouldn’t change it for the world.
About a year ago, I found myself spending more and more time away from my loft. I went through phases where I’d stay here a little more often, but I started realizing, I didn’t miss it. The feeling of home started attaching itself to a human (and two dogs) and less to a place.
Today is my last day in my loft. To say I’m not sad to leave would be a lie. But, the overwhelming excitement of moving in with Sam and building a home together definitely outweighs the sadness of leaving. More than anything, I am so grateful to have found a partner who feels like home, who pushes me to be my best self, who loves me for all of my quirks (and there are a lot of them), who is patient in every way, who encourages me to book plane tickets to book Paris even when he’s not coming on the trip and the list could go on and on. Tomorrow, I move in (officially) with Sam and we move into our new home together, in four weeks. I can’t wait.
No matter where or who it is, I hope we all get to find our own versions of home.
That concludes my last post written in my loft, my first home, but surely not my last. Here’s to the end of an era & to the next.
xx Ali