The Trouble with House-hunting

Years ago, when I was a young college student, with a lot less . . . stuff, I considered life an adventure, worthy of having a new view regularly. Back then, that took the form of moving every year or two. I simply loved the act of waking up someplace new. There was the hundred year old Victorian where I grew up; with its creaky wooden floors, unevenly plastered walls, and stained glass windows. That gave way to the generic boxy freshman year apartment, with soiled carpets, and noisy neighbors; and let’s not forget the city townhouse where a college love drove off in the snow, not to be seen for fourteen years.

I still love the idea of waking up somewhere new, though now, I prefer those views enjoyed while on vacation. However, it’s that time again, when the single, childless, renting, and overstocked lady that I am, is in need of a new place to call home. Six years after my last home search, I’ve found that the trouble with house hunting, is of all things . . . love.
We’re all a little bit of the place that we choose to call home. We’re the pictures on the wall, the fabric on the furniture, the meals we choose to prepare, and guests we invite inside. That external view tells more tales about us, than any diary or friend could divulge.

As for love, the search for a new home is as complicated as a plotted romance. There’s falling in love with the perfect space, large enough for an extreme collection of books, the wardrobe of a woman deserving of a much better social life, and room for dinner parties, lavish book clubs, and long afternoons spent lazing a day away with no purpose at all.
There’s the hunt, no less serious than speed dating, for the house filled with the right lighting, bright enough in the morning, dark enough for a romantic evening, and cozy enough for hours lost in the arms of a book whose adventures lure you into its pages.

Finally, every new home is the potential future setting of my next great romance; be it between the sheets, well pages that is; whichever is more appropriate; and I can’t help but look forward to the next great love, adventure, that’ll take root within its walls.