I can’t remember when I first mentioned it, but at the beginning of this year, my boyfriend and I made the decision to move out of our family homes and rent a place together. Well, lo and beyond the plan has actually worked.
Against all odds (well, not all odds) we found a place that ticked most of our boxes (was a hot tub in an affordable rental really very likely?) and we’re picking up the keys at the end of the month!
If I could describe the range of emotions I’ve felt over the last month, I would, but it’s been so much more of a rollercoaster. From viewing the house on a whim (initially just to compare it to another that we’d seen) to worrying about applications and whether we should even go for it when we were still in the ‘just looking’ stage. Then everything happily went through and instead of the jumping up and down I expected myself to be doing, a little voice of fear and panic started to pipe up.
As exciting as moving out and standing completely on my own two feet is, it’s also pretty daunting.
The excitement has come in dribs and drabs, but surely enough it’s building. The wait is killing me and to be honest with you, the last few weeks (since the whole thing was confirmed) has felt like a month and I’m certain that the next two weeks will have me clawing at the walls – which has already started.
So, let’s get to the point of this rambling post. I’m so excited. I’m also pretty damn terrified.
I’ve lived at home for 21 years and haven’t been away for more than a week or so. As much as I can’t wait to wash up the pots and receive scary bills through the post, there are some bigger things that I’m nervous for.
I wrote a whole post about burning bridges the other day, but today I’m not talking about the feel-like-another-friend kind of lonely. From 21 years of having at least someone else in the house with me to living with just one other person who works an opposite schedule to me, is bound to cause some sort of loneliness, right?
Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time alone. It’s something that years ago I vowed to learn to enjoy. Why? Because there are so many times in my life when I’m going to be alone with myself, I thought might as well start making the most of this lifelong relationship. So whilst making my own cups of tea, watching one of my favourite films alone or pretending I can sing don’t terrify me, actually being alone without choice does.
It’s the conundrum that means whenever you go out you wish you were at home and whenever you stay home you wish you’d have gone out. Well, apart from that maybe you were never invited out and your real options were alone or alone.
I know I’ll settle in and find my tribe, but the nerve-wracking possibly that I won’t is lingering over my shoulder.
Getting Something Seriously Wrong
Financially I fall somewhere between being a complete hedonist and an absolute worry-wort. I like to spend money because, heck, you can’t take it with you, but the high levels of anxiety when I have a bill to pay sort of takes the pleasure out of it all.
Thankfully I currently have a very supportive family who I know will help me out as much as they can if I’m in trouble. Surprisingly though this has never settled all my money woes. With help and support often comes guilt. Along with the guilt comes thoughts of not being a proper adult, maybe being a bit of a failure and disappointing myself. All things that kinda suck.
Right now I’m okay, but there’s always a voice in the back of my mind reminding me that I could accidentally (or purposefully) do something that could put me in dire, dire places. Maybe it’s just a call-of-the-void type of thing, but it’s probably more the looming reality of fiscal responsibility. I know I could spend every penny I have in Anthropologie (and get some top Instagrams in the process), but would my boyfriend ever forgive me/would I ever forgive myself? Probably not anymore…
If I had to describe boring to you it would be this: Sitting amongst a group of friends or family who only wish to discuss their jobs (and maybe they all work in education which is the cherry on top of the cake of pain). Now, these people aren’t boring but in that moment I saw my greatest fear (exaggeration).
It’s like when you get trapped in a story someone’s telling a mundane story about people you don’t know, you just about find the energy to be polite but afterwards feel exhausted from the charade. I don’t want to make people feel like that and I definitely don’t want to be regularly subjected to it myself.
Sure, most adults are boring to young whippersnappers like me, but I guess what I’m afraid of is getting tied up in these mundane anecdotes and fooling myself that they’re fulfilling me. No matter how necessary is may be sometimes, I think the 9-5 is an absolute slave trap that we can break out of (as a society) if we just try hard enough. Of course, we never will because too many people are satisfied with the comfort.
I’m being cautious not to offend anyone, but at the end of the day, my definition of boring would be letting my life fall into the routine of what so many people have accepted as gospel. That’s probably not you, but you totally know what I mean, right? (Someone says right).