toward the middle-end of last summer, i hit a weekend where i finally emerged from my post-boy depression and had the strongest desire to paint my entire apartment. i wanted to change everything about my life so he wouldn’t come back and get me again, and apparently that started with my walls. after a million back and forths of “please” and “no” from my landlord, she agreed to let me paint if i painted it back white at least eight weeks before my lease ended.
okay, i said. i just like painting.
so the bathroom turned this cool blue and our kitchen became a slate gray and honestly it made a world of difference. our clinical rooms became a little cozier and i felt fantastically empowered. it gave me some creative release from the ugh. i bought a deep red for an accent wall.
of course, we got back together shortly after that. and then it ended again. of course. i never painted the accent wall.
tonight i’m beginning to paint the walls back white. i spent a couple hours priming the kitchen, and i just kept thinking of last summer, versus now, and how much is the same and so much more is different.
we made it through the election. same job, different title. (okay, a slightly different job.) i’m still single but surprised by how much i’ve been pursued, and even more surprised about how often i go on dates. occasionally i even go on one where i may actually try, versus suffering through it.
i’m still not over him. i’ve begun to believe that he may just be someone i’ll carry with me wherever i go.
i’m infinitely stronger. i’m impossibly happier. i have learned so much about grace and joy and forgiveness. and about cyncism and isolation, but i already knew about those two.
10 more weeks to learn from these old/new white walls. and then it’s onto the next adventure. because if you’ve ever tried to move in a city, you know it’s an adventure.