Six months prior, I had talked one of my best friends out of moving to Houston and now here I was flying down there to set up our new apartment. The airport was sprawling; I scanned the crowd for the tallest figure. There was Tim.
Yes, it was hot. Humid? Check. Cockroaches? Yep. However, it was also incredibly affordable, very attractive and super friendly. I was prepared to make the most of our situation.
Yet, Tim's new boss was not. He found Austin more alluring. And so, after decorating our apartment but never spending a whole week there, I found we were moving to Austin. We were still just engaged so I was living in Lexington and Tim was in Texas.
It was October when I met Tim in Austin to look at property. I brought my bathing suit from D.C. And used it. The sky was cerulean. The air was crisp but the sun was warm.
After much seeking, we found a 1400 ft. apt. in a development called Los Arboles. The live oaks dipped and lunged, skirted gracefully with spanish moss. Rosemary grew abundantly next to the common walkways. The three pools were sparkling and swimmable by March. It was bliss.
Yet. Yet, the apartment was not our own. We could not place our own stamp upon it. No paint, no window treatments. As the daughter of a decorator, this did not bode well for me.
And so our quest began. We needed to find our own house.
Our journey lead us into the deepest recesses of Austin's society. Boiling chicken, anyone? Pink shag carpeting? Mirrored bedroom walls? Somehow, though swamped in the real estate quagmire of Austin in the early 2000's (AKA boom town), we found a home. A thoroughly decent 1450 square foot ranch with the charm of a rabid pit bull.
So we stripped. And buffeted. Laminated and plumbed. Wisely, we invested about $4000 in the house, for which we had paid a paltry sum (by East Coast standards).
It became Home. I lived there for two years and considered myself lucky.
I have lived here in Barcroft, in Arlington, for 9 years, the longest I have ever lived in one place in my life. Our 1950s ranch home is modest, even as we add a master suite and a screened porch. I never imagined I would live in this style home for so long... but it is not the style I am wedded to.
I never aspired to owning a Ranch House. I never considered closets luxurious. Yet, here I am. So why didn't we save our money and move to a large house in North Arlington?
Because I am home. My children love and are loved. My friends remember my birthday. My Derby party has become a neighborhood institution.
I own roughly 2600 square feet of housing. I share a bathroom with my children.
I might as well live in a castle. I am rich beyond my wildest expectations.
I usually write this blog to satisfy two needs... a creative outlet for what I believe to be a talent for writing and a sounding board for someone who is bipolar. Tonight, I wrote a blog about normalcy. Perhaps it is boring or rote. Regardless, I wrote something that meant something to me. Selfish? Perhaps. Fulfilling? Most definitely.
Ask yourself... is there anything wrong with what is doing that which might be considered a little selfish but most definitely fulfilling? Rock on.
