For many years I lived a somewhat nomadic lifestyle. As a child I rarely lived in the same place for very long, and each move resulted in a variety of broken or lost toys. When I eventually found some stability for a couple years, things all went up in the air again. As a result, I’ve never been the kind of person who is overly attached to “things,” always prepared for their inevitable loss at the time of acquisition. But, now, I have been living in the same house for 5 years, more than I’ve ever lived anywhere else in my entire life, and, well, I bought a desk.
In most of my travels I’ve always stuck to cheap IKEA-type furniture, always expecting that at any moment I might decide to leave it all behind. While I still have some defenses up with this purchase — it would not stop me from leaving — it represents the first time in my life that I’ve bought nice, quality furniture that I expect to be able to use for a long time.
Becoming attached to a place like my house, like San Francisco, is a scary prospect for me. I still have so much to see and do that I can’t stay here, but I am beginning to think that I might be happy if it is always somewhere I can return to. If I manage to get the money, at some point I think I’d be pretty happy buying this house, and that’s certainly a change for somebody who only planned to live here for 2 years.
Is this what it feels like to grow up?