a little over 2 months ago, I moved in my new place.
Renting again after 10 years.
I don't look at it as a step backwards, however.
For me, it's a step forward.
To me.
I love my new place.
The first night I stood in my living room, amidst boxes and I cried.
I cried tears of joy.
My OWN place.
My cozy place for me and my girls.
Finally.
And, while, after 2 months, it's not completely the way I want it, it's coming along.
And ever day I come home, or wake up, I fall in love with my place.
Because it's something I have worked towards.
It seems like the past two years, I have worked towards many goals.
Many goals are being obtained.
But still many more have yet to be fulfilled.
A work in progress.
Always a work in progress.
And you have to be okay with that.
And I am.
And in the past two years, I have learned more patience in those two years, than I have in my whole life.
