And I'm floating in the most peculiar way...

In June, we sold our house of sixteen years. This was a pretty triumphant moment. Someone thought our house was cool enough to buy and love and move into. Mum and I are moving so that we can live somewhere that suits us better. We currently live in a lovely, modest house that has served us very well over the years. However, now I'm a grown up living at home so my tiny bedroom right next to Mum's doesn't suit us quite as well anymore. We don't have another house to move into yet, so we're floating, trying to find somewhere nicer than here.

The whole process is making me terribly nostalgic as I wander through the house before we have to move in August. The little bits of graffiti that I've done on walls over the years, including the marking of my height since age five, the marks in the carpet from heavy furniture that we moved long ago, how the light cascades into our house through the lovely big windows... Everything is so much more magical. Our house has been through many changes over the years, we've renovated our kitchen and bathroom, painted walls, moved furniture, gotten new carpets and we've landscaped our garden. It has become such a beautiful place that I've taken pride in calling home. 

Looking for a new house is an emotional process. Things are different. Where will we fit the piano? There's nowhere near as much light in this house. It smells different. The bath looks small... I really like baths, and as a tall person, this can be a legitimate dilemma. It all sounds a bit ridiculous, and yes, I need to be more optimistic and open minded, but it's hard when you're leaving somewhere laced with memories of special moments. Eventually, we will find a house, the right house, but we haven't yet.. or maybe one of the houses we have looked at is going to be the one. This is scary for me. 

We're about to start a new chapter and I'm admittedly pretty nervous. I'd rather be homeless [and by homeless I mean moving in with family members] for a while than move somewhere that feels wrong. Despite a solid sixteen years in this house, I call many places home. As a child and teenager, I've spent many days and nights staying at other people's houses. My mum used to work night shifts when I was younger, so I would stay with various family members a few nights a week. Whichever bed I slept in, wherever I was, I always felt safe and comfortable. I know that home is where the heart is, but I wonder if we could accidentally choose the wrong house, and it isn't right for whatever reason. What if....

Mum and I are adopting an 'everything happens for a reason' type philosophy whilst looking for a house. Some that we like are too expensive or get sold really quickly and we have to look elsewhere and we accept that it wasn't meant to be. We're also really interested in the atmosphere/vibe/spirit of the houses we walk into. Some places have really negative energy and we know that we wouldn't be comfortable there and even though it sounds spacey and a little bit weird, I think it's an important consideration to make. I'm not a religious person, but I do consider myself to be spiritual in this kind of way. 

 Four different views of the sky from the back of our home

So that's where I'm at, anxiously awaiting to move on whilst stubbornly wanting to plant my feet firmly here in my childhood home. We'll see how it goes..

- Isabella