The Significance of Spoons
I recently moved into my own home. I've moved into homes before, but never my own home. I've never lived alone. Even before my marriage, I always had roommates. Living alone just didn't make economical sense to me and frugality has historically been the trump card in my decision making life. Not this time, I'm paying more for housing than I ever have, and it feels gosh darn good. Not the paying more, but my home. My new home feels so good.
But getting here has been quite the journey. For a variety of reasons, when I first broke up with my husband, we continued to cohabitate - for nearly 5 months. I don't regret that decision, but it came with significant sacrifice - a large part of the sacrifice was not always having a safe physical space in which to reside. Safe spaces aren't just protection from physical harm, exposure, and challenges, but also places of emotional and mental rest. I did my best to subdivide our living space to allow for this.
Then I transitioned to a season of travel, as a took emergency sabbatical rest. First Northern California by car, then Mexico, then Colombia. I am grateful for it. Those experiences now feel like a lifetime away. Once back in LA I was, for three weeks, at the mercy of others for temporary shelter until I could find suitable housing and act quickly enough in this uber-competitive housing environment. One apartment I applied to suggested that I offer a higher bid than the listed rent, which is already more than people can comfortably afford. I declined to participate in a culture that gouges the more vulnerable and establishes/upholds a culture of choosing money over people and relationships.
Through the bidding-war apartment experience, I met a real estate agent who ultimately did help me find my current home, but even that journey was quite unclear and meandering.
The experience was a game of telephone - would I meet them, would I sign a 2-year lease, would they install a stove, when could I sign the lease, when could I move in. Ultimately, one and a half weeks after first seeing the home, I was given 24 hours notice to have a cashier's check, sign the lease, and get my keys.
In the previous weeks, I had applied to several places, filling out the long applications with all my financial information and paying the application fees only to hit a dead-end - at one they didn't accept Wilmer's dog breed, at another they picked someone else who volunteered to pay several months in advance, and at yet another I learned from another tenant that the management was not good, tenants turned over all the time, neighbors were rude, parking was rough, and they had a roof leak that was never repaired (but I had loved the cozy little apartment). Emotionally, I didn't know if I could sustain the intense effort required to search, decide, apply, wait, bargain, all while negotiating the challenges of temporary housing for myself and my dog.
I'm pretty sure I wept when I found out I had been accepted and could move into my own place the following evening. I loaded up a carful of belongings - prioritizing plants, clothes, and books - and went to offer the check, sign the lease, and sleep with my camping pad on the floor.
Here, in my new home, I feel all the kinds of safety - physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual.
On the second night, I brought over a box of kitchen goods from storage. I found my cutlery and the drawer organizer to hold them. I slid the organizer into the drawer with my half of the cutlery. I remembered the beautiful song Knives and Forks by Now the Rabbit Has the Gun. That song took on personal significance 10 years after first hearing it.
I had my own spoons, knives, and forks in my own drawer, in my own kitchen. I was home. There was a great deal more work to do in settling into my new home, but I was here.
With gratitude, I recalled talking to a friend the night before I found this place. I had expressed my disheartened state in my search for my next physical home. She suggested that I manifest it, by thinking of all the things I wanted. I thought about quiet, lots of windows, a cute place, walkable, parking, in-home laundry. The next day this popped up, and I was able to go see it. I got all my wishes and more!
Spoons in a drawer have never felt so significant. I think I'll go eat one of my favorite treats - my raspberry, flax and chia seed, yogurt parfaits with one of those clean spoons held tidily in place by that plastic organizer. I am so grateful.
What does physical space mean to you?
What does home mean to you and how much and in what ways do you invest in your home?
What objects hold reminders of safety and rest for you?
Are you utilizing the power of prayer and manifestation in your life?
May you always see the blessing.
-esb