That's how I finally came to describe it, later.
Not too long ago, I was having a conversation that started out to be about money, my financial situation. Owning a house 1,800 miles away is bad enough, but to start in on thinking about everything that house stands for, is a whole 'nother story.
Six years ago, I was engaged. I was happy and young and foolish and rich (as far as I thought). I bought a house. Said engagement lasted three months into living in the House. We break up,cordially, friendly, easily. We both recognized that we were too young to be starting a grown-up life together when neither of us had fully outgrown early-twenties idiot-ness. Roommates move in, another boyfriend happens upon me, he maintains a lease on his apartment for eight months, all the while staying at the House most nights. Eight months do not lead to much but a slightly more bitter break-up than the last. Another roommate in, another out, once again another in. Meet guy at bar, next day calls early wanting a date. Lunch, swimming, kiss on the cheek. Several months later, by accident, guy moves in. Cohabitate, "fall in love," proposal, wedding planning. All the while this poor House is the setting. Bad news, I bail a month before the wedding. Six months later, I bail on the House, I bail on Birmingham, on a job, on everything that I was. I up and leave.
Quite possibly the best move I ever made.
I bailed on my LIFE.
...and here I am, a year later. I feel free. I feel like I have found a home in Jackson. I have collected a great group of loving friends, while maintaining the meaningful friendships back home. I have a wonderful job and a great little (rental) house. But the irony of it all? I'm taking the plunge again: cohabitation. Josh and I have decided to move in together. We have yet to decide if we will stay here, in the log cabin, or if we will start fresh in a place that is ours and was never just mine. Elu accepts the challenge, I'm looking forward to what is to come.