I decided to take a mental and emotional break from packing up my apartment which I have lived in for just shy of 7 years. Moments ago, I spent close to 5 minutes trying to disrobe an extremely ugly lamp (I’m tossing it) of a Rasta sweatband - that I just couldn’t let go of. Somehow I got that damn thing on the lamp - I intentionally put it there to make the lamp less ugly - but when I went to take it off, it took me unscrewing the lightbulb, and then screwing it back in. Then I had to draw the sweat band that I have had for a decade (at least), off the cord of the lamp, which just happened to be plugged into an extension cord, which was buried under some pillows. The point is most people would have stopped at minute 1 and said ‘I don’t need that stupid sweat band.’ But to me, that sweatband (that I will never wear) is one of many treasures in my life that I just cant quite let go of. And that, right there, illuminates the fact that I am patient, so patient - but letting go...that shit is hard.

I am so thankful for this moment, this very evening, as I write this - because I realized a few minutes ago, that this is my last night in my near future, alone. Like, really alone. I bought a house with my boyfriend and my lease ends in two weeks. Sure he will travel and I will have nights in while he is out, but our new home will be ours - not some knickknack filled extension of my own brain. I will have to refrain from putting cards I got in my early twenties on the wall (did I mention I am kind of a hoarder?) with shells and crystals on every possible surface. Not that my boyfriend is a stranger to crystals - every month he puts his out to moon-bathe - but the space will be shared, it will be ours. I want that, I really do. But as I sit here alone, listening to exactly what I want to listen to. Procrastinating the way and speed that I am welcome to procrastinate. And staying up as late as I want to, I realize that these past seven years have been nothing short of magical.

After 6 moves in 4 years, I moved into this sweet pad - another confession, it is still painted the same canary yellow as it was the day I moved in. It is a perfect two bedroom, in an ideal location, and as sit on the couch looking at my increasingly empty walls, I can think of nothing wrong with it. Sure, it has full carpet, and I need wood floors for a regular yoga practice. Yeah, I really, really want a dog and there are no dogs allowed. Fine, I hate when I bring home groceries in the car, and I have to walk a block home, doing this weird ‘pass-off’ technique to myself so no-one steals them en-route. But in every other way it is perfect. And when I landed here, man did I need it. I needed to not move for seven years. I needed to become a responsible, healthy, human. I needed to fall in love and get my heartbroken. And I needed to fall in love again with someone that wants to put down roots with me despite the fact I think a vase that has been broken 3 times is still salvageable.

I love cooking alone, and I love eating alone. It is a proven fact I cannot clean a house when there are other people present. I can sit on my couch and do absolutely nothing (not read, not play on my phone, not watch TV) for hours, and I feel like I had a good night. I think, I daydream, I write things in my head. When I am officially not alone - how will I solve my problems?

Now I know that my scenario is not unique - mostly. However, as I sit in my house putting all my stuff in neat boxes, clearly labeled with content, level of the new house it should go to, and a descriptor such as “heavy.” I realize that most people who move in with their partners do so in their early twenties...or early thirties at least. Sure, I moved in with a boyfriend. Once. It lasted 6 months. I was leaving a coke-house so I was improving my situation, and moving into a place that he, his father and brother all lived in, with only a corner for me to spread out. So, Im not counting that. Now, I am a conscious, happy person, who has created a sanctuary for myself to grow, to learn and to heal. And it was a place to have fun, to come and go as I please, to feel safe and steady. To begin a full new chapter in my life.

And I made the decision to move on. I am happy I did, but I will be honest that the tiniest piece of me worries if it is my bag - co-habitation. I have had roommates of all colors over the years - and all of them claimed I was the best roommate they have had (except that one guy I kicked out). But cohabitation is another animal. Schedules have to be considered, quirks allowed for, space given, love kept fresh and potent. Am I cut out for it? I sure do hope so. I love that my boyfriend also likes to be alone, and that he travels, and that it is OK that I travel alone. I love that he works late like I do, and doesn’t expect that we should be making dinner before 9pm. I don’t love that he really wants me to go to bed at the same time as him which is about an hour earlier that I want to - but I do, because I love him. And I want to always be able to compromise. It shows strength as a human, and compassion as a partner.

If I lived alone forever, I would never really have to compromise. Sure a little in relationships, and at work. But I wouldn’t have to compromise my everything, meaning all that space and alone time I have now, in this instant. I know that this is the next task. The next lesson. Doing this right and who knows, I might even be able to raise a child with someone - then I can really say good bye to alone time.