My wife and I recently moved into our first real house. Beforehand, we rented a small duplex for four years. With the big move, people have continually asked us “How is the new house?” and “What are ya’ll planning on doing to it?” The questions haven’t gotten old yet. It is still very new and exciting thing, but as these questions keep pouring in, there is one thing that has crept up in my thoughts. No one asks or talks about our old place. Not that they are required or expected to, but it is something that I thought of just the other day.
You do not sign a deed and magically have a home. You may by a building in the vague shape of a house or an apartment, but it isn’t magically turned into your home. That is something my wife and I have learned. We were expecting our love for our old place to almost transfer to our new place, but it hasn’t. In fact, the first week at our new house was filled with anxiety and a longing to return to our old place because that felt like home.
With each day that passes, as we make more meals, clean more floors, share more life, this building in the vague shape of a house starts to feel less like a house and more like a home.