Life is Like Spaghetti
If you have been following along for a while on my Instagram account @thoughtfullythrifted you have probably read some of my vague posts about me having to sell my house and downsize to an apartment. Many times, I would get comments like, "a house is just a house," or "things aren't what matter in life." I know these comments were only meant to help, but what I was really expressing was I lost my home, my life, my best friend.
I once had a coworker tell me that our lives are like spaghetti. I now understand exactly what she meant. I haven't been selling much lately. Business has been slow. I went back and looked at my sales data today. My revenue was on a steady incline, until "the split." If I look close enough, my sales probably even correlate with the few weeks I attempted to use dating sites (the three most exhausting weeks of my life). Every little bit of our lives are intertwined. You can't separate the noodles from the sauce.
We had just bought our second home around Thanksgiving of 2016. Four and a half months later my fiance told me he wanted to call off the wedding. Mind you, he says through text while I'm running errands on my day job lunch break. I'll never forget the moment when I read that text. It was a Wednesday. I was getting ready to enter a roundabout and tears just streamed down my face. Thankfully, I made it through the roundabout. I hate those damn things to begin with.
Flash forward three days. It's Friday. We are standing in what was "our" living room, and he looked me in the eyes, and said, "Miranda, it's really over." I think that was my first moment of acceptance. This wasn't a nightmare. This was real life. Four years of hard work. All the blood, sweat, tears feeling like they were for nothing. I packed a bag and headed straight to my parents. There was no one I wanted to hug more than my momma.
So many unknowns. So many questions. The following week, I went to see a little apartment down the road from our house. I walked in, looked at the leasing agent and said, "I know this might sound crazy, but can I start moving in tomorrow?" She understood. She simply said, "yes." That little apartment was B2 with it's burning hot or freezing cold water, no air conditioning, suspect tenants, and original hard wood floors.
Thank you all for your encouraging words and prayers. Piper (my dog) and I are trying to make the best of life in B2. This year has taught me that home isn't necessarily a roof over your head. Home is where your heart lives. Where you feel comfortable. Where you can make mistakes and grow. I am lucky to have friends and family that feel like home when B2 doesn't.