Some days seem more important than others. There are days we remember with complete clarity, days we capture in pictures and stories: first days of school; first time driving a car. First days of college. First days of work. The first time we fall in love. Today was one of those days. Today, for the first time, I walked through the door of a house that belongs to me. Today, I became a homeowner.
After a month of frantic paperwork and a day of impatient waiting, I found myself sitting on the floor of my empty living room drinking celebratory champagne out of a paper coffee cup. In this quiet moment of joy, I have never felt more loved.
There is something humble about the way you sneak into my life every day. A fleeting glimpse of the Space Needle out the bus window. The tap-tap-tap of a queen’s confident stride down a 2am street. A dazzle of pink spreading across the mountain-tipped sunrise. You slide unassumingly into my morning smile as I remember: I live here.
To think that it’s been a year already. A year of Orca Cards and coffee shops. Of library books and houseplants. Turbulant cycles of summer and rain. Every day I wake up feeling privledged. My morning tea comes wrapped in a felicitous notion of belonging.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve loved a city before. The picturesque cobbles of an old English town and the tolling of bells hung high in a Minster. There I learned how to live. I learned how to break my heart, how to forget. But here, with you Seattle, I’m learning to be. Just to be. Nothing more complicated.