đ Home, At Last
Setting down my lifelong suitcases -- with delight and terror
Just as most people seem to fold their hometowns into their identity, I have instead always seen myself as a bit of a tumbleweed1. In fact, this is what I wrote as part of my anti-resolutions for this year, back when I was figuring out what a year of âphoenixingâ could look like, in my case.
From 2026: What I Resolve NOT To Do This Year:
continue to have one foot out the door, wherever I live. Iâm pretty old to still not have a hometown. My family moved dozens of times as a kid/teen, and then the same thing happened with my partnerâs military service and academic posts. But now weâre in Seattle, and we really want to stayâwhich means I need to find us a house (maybe a forever house?) that supports us long-term, build up longer-term local friendships, and generally value the slower, deeper more than âletâs-have-fun-now-but-purposefully-avoid-getting-too-attached-to-places-or-people.â Itâs a pretty big mindset swap, which requires new skills and vulnerabilities.
Well, friendsâwe are finally buying a home here in Seattle, and the closing will be the second week in June!
Normally this would be when Iâd wantâvery muchâto share a picture of the house. But, these days, Iâm just a little more skeeved out by what sharing something like means, in terms of what Iâd be directly giving the algorithms. So I will, instead, say: it has lots of windows (score!), enough rooms that weâve got a nice one for the teen and ourselves, plus I can have one dedicated as a library/game room and another as my studio/office (double score!) and my partner can have HIS own office (hooray!) while also having a guest room/landing space for my oldest when/if he should want to make use of it.
Most importantlyâat least, how Iâm wiredâthere is a mama robin with an active nest under one of the porch eaves, and if you are on the second floor looking out the window, you look right out on them2.
In short: HUZZAH!
As always, there will be work to do: the outside of the house is painted as if it were inspired by Lillyâs Pink Plastic Purse, and the backyard is (inexplicably) full of wood chips, instead of grass. But I actually love the ability to put my own creative stamp on a placeâso these kinds of cosmetic opportunities are actually really fun to think about.
Less fun to ponder? That, somehow, while this is exactly what we wantedâI wanted!âI canât pretend itâs also been quite terrifying? Signing that contract? Figuring out what needs to happen next to get ready, and making all the decisions along the way? Itâs not that itâs the biggest purchase weâve ever made (though that wasnât nothing - đ ); itâs that the purchase seems so immutable and permanent.
And even though thatâs what I wantâwhat Iâve always wanted, reallyâpermanence, securityâitâs also something that sets off more than a little fight-or-flight for a girl with my particular history of frequent moves, rolodex of Plans B-through-Z, and a certain sensitivity to rejection (and therefore, a fear of closed escape routes)?
Even though I like to think of this phoenixing year as a once-in-a-lifetime growth opportunity, the truth is Iâve phoenixed many, many, many times in my life alreadyâjust not normally by choice. I so often had to, which meant, at best, a sense of relief to get through it, rather than pride. So, of course, this purposeful year is significantly different, in that truly all-important way!
Still, tell my lizard brain, who is fully aware I would always choose âflightâ as the ideal superpower.
What does it mean to own a home? Doesnât committing to one placeâto one settingâsort of mean it owns you, too, in a way? (See what Iâm battling? This strange, scary doubt about whether I am up to the challenge of being vulnerable enough to stay put, and to finally âwhetherââha haâin place?)
I canât deny that thinking of myself, ourselves, now as: homeowners. Seattleites. permanent residents.âwell, itâs a strange shift in identity, away from seeing myself as a lifelong nomad to whom particularly deep connections are later pain points, and therefore, things to try to temperâto someone who really, really wants to be brave and go very, very deep (but needs to do so very, very, very, veryâŚ<takes a nap>âŚ<calendar pages flip>âŚslowly).
So, the one-week house-buying process norm here?
The timing, too, is surely amplifying everythingâespecially as Iâm already feeling some anxiety-riddled (even if helpful, and necessary) identify shifts: (somehow) becoming a âhalf-empty nesterâ, being motherless3, navigating my late-in-life ADHD diagnosis4, upskilling in the new, daunting (if exciting) creative field of illustration, while trying to preserve the productive and similarly sacred aspects of my writing lifeâand, to really weird myself outâeven a noticeable physical transformation from taking better care of myself (with increased confidence in some ways, and increased confusion in others). Andâon top of thatânot really feeling quite like Iâm aceing ANY of it, at least yet. ItâsâŚa lot, and even though these are mostly privileges and I know (god, I know!) Iâm WHINING here, that doesnât change the fact that they are new to me, and one or many of them always seem to be popping up in my emotional landscape like 2026 whack-a-mole.
At any rate, a lot of big feelings are going to come up (and honestly, some already have). What helps is that at least one of them? Itâs gratitude.
I know a lot of people do not have the option to buy a house, particularly now, and particularly in Seattle, and Iâm not unaware of how strange (and tone-deaf!) it may sound to be, well, 90 percent thrilled and 10 percent in a ridiculous-seeming panic over good news. But when Iâm getting that feeling, yet again, I do have one weird trick that also seems to helpâŚ
remembering alllll the bookshelves our house will soon have.
You guysâthere are going to be SO MANY.
Your âhoming pigeonâ friend,
Elayne
My posts are always free, but my focus isnât; if you found this post interesting or useful, please consider âĄâing it, so I know. Thank you!
In fact, this was a longstanding family joke: because our last name was Foster, my mom loved to introduce me to people with, ââŚand this is my Foster daughter, Elayne.â Funny, right? (Says this girl who somehow has rejection sensitivity.)
Egg-citing!
While, of course, I love my family members, itâs a fact that my childhood was very much an adultified oneâfor example, it was my job to get my brothers ready for school and feed them breakfast every day, etc.âso this is, I think, more about the grief from knowing that 1) of course, my mother and I did really love, and care, for one another, 2) we had some lovely periods of closeness that I truly treasure and of which I know she was proud of providing when she could, but 3) knowing we never did make it to the kind of closeness I think we both really cravedâof feeling truly understoodâand the sadness of that being now-forever-unfinished business.
I donât even know that Iâve talked about that here; thatâs how recent itâs been. I guess I have a pretty good built-in excuse: âI was too distracted and laser-focused on other things!â Ha ha ha, sob.