Northport, Alabama

I realized something profound this morning — the sun shines everywhere.

One of the things I love about my house is the way the morning light streams through the windows, spilling great pools of white in the daytime, gold in the evening. I love to see the morning sun transform my dining room table into polished amber. I love the yellow walls and the way they contrast against the trim work. I love the cool blue calmness of my bedroom, the fresh clean sage of my laundry room. I wrap myself in the comfort of my brown office, revel in the unexpected surprise of sheer blue curtains.

Soon, I won’t live here. I’m relinquishing the Norman Rockwell dream, walking a new, uncertain path. And I feel a great burden lifted from my shoulders.

I didn’t expect it, and I don’t imagine it will last. But the reality is that houses come with problems. Lots of them. There are refrigerators that stop working. Stoves that aren’t quite what you wanted but were all you could afford. There are insects that must be dealt with and grass that must be cut and roofs that must be patched and storms that strew broken limbs.

Of course, there is incredible freedom as well, and if I stopped to ponder it, I might be sad. But I’ve learned something. I can look back, or I can look ahead. I can cling to yesterday, or I can go capture a new life.

Happiness isn’t tied to a house or even a city. Happiness is the way hazelnut coffee smells in the morning. Happiness is writing so fast and so hard that your words are tripping over themselves, rambunctious children that won’t be tamed. Happiness is laughing so hard I spit Coke on my computer monitor. Happiness is discovering new music, seeing new things, finding the road less traveled, finding the path not taken.

I’m digging tight jeans turned slouchy and earrings that jingle as I walk. I’m grooving a new challenge and a career twist. I’m having fun meeting new people and making friends. I’m feeling the urge to shoot again, to write again, to live again. I’m getting a kick out of watching my kitties play and learning to play myself.

I’m only 34. I have years and years to experience the stresses and hardships of home ownership. If I never spread another bead of caulk, it’ll be a day too soon.

Music: Many the Miles by Sara Bareilles (lyrics)

Posted on August 3, 2007 by Carmen K. Sisson tagged Alabama, Northport, personal, writing