I stood in a sunny nook in an empty house today, thinking about living in it. We've made an offer on this house, and it could be my new home in less than a month, likely *will* be in just a few short weeks.
Things have changed. Three years ago, I closed on another house, but it wasn't like this one will be. Back then, it was a half-measure, a pause in time, a condo more than a house, an apartment with perks. It was a gesture meant to stop the hemorrhaging flow in my life.
Now, it's different. This is a real house, a big house, a house with a yard and a garage and real trees -- big trees -- with windows all around and no wall shared with strangers. I'm at a place in my life that I thought I might never reach -- a job I actually like with a company I can actually stand, and things are finally settling down. I can stop wandering. I can stop longing. I can stop wishing for peace and actually find it. Maybe I'll find it in that sunny nook.
The title of today's post comes from Kiran Desai, author of "The Inheritance of Loss."
— 'The present changes the past. Looking back you do not find what you left behind.'