Added: Gavriel Lefever - Date: 12.09.2021 14:02 - Views: 17395 - Clicks: 3325
A warm breeze might blow between them, stirring long grasses in a chorus of soft, scratchy sounds. But the reality is much less soothing. Two years ago I bought my first house, in Portland, Oregon. My friend rented out the second bedroom, and my dog would crawl through our connected closets to visit us both, climbing over little hills of shoes we shared.
At night we gossiped over the glow of HBO, like wiser versions of our college selves.
This year, I broke up with my boyfriend the day before my 31st birthday. Around the same time, my roommate decided to get her own space.
Both situations had been good, but not good enough to last forever. And as I stepped onto solid something ground, I craved the space to define my life—to make it the best it could be—without the clutter of too much company or commitment. Without a boyfriend or a roommate, I felt myself turning inward, into myself, into my home, and I was thrilled by the prospect of living alone. A primal urge to make this house my own has taken up the space my roommate once occupied. But as I stare at the wall, letting the green squares blur and sharpen, blur and sharpen, I feel the pressure of passing time and decisions and solitude.
I only looked at three houses before deciding on this one. The avocado green is a little pukey, the limey yellow is too neon, and the soft sage is boring me already. Nothing is growing inside of me but anxiety over finding the perfect piece of art to hang above my bed. Yet still, this urge is surely biological, primal, unavoidable.
Our gut is still optimized for hunting and gathering, and our modern reality is moving far too quickly for it to react appropriately. I think back to when I was 22 or 23, when, deep in my gut, I wanted to be a mom. I watched pregnant women longingly, and though the experience of being pregnant frightened me, I wanted it so badly. That urge has faded. I now view motherhood pragmatically; something that might be nice, but might never happen, and might also be awful, so why pine over it when I really have no idea?
I can leave the plugs exposed. When people enter my home, I want them to see me. As a single, childless woman.
I recently threw a party at my house for the holidays. I cooked all day, dusted hidden corners, and lit candles on every surface.LIVING ALONE SAFETY TIPS: How to Feel Confident and Safe Living Alone as a Single Woman
Share this story.Single girl home alone
email: [email protected] - phone:(767) 785-5639 x 6535
A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night