I’ve never been someone who rushed into things.
I waited seven years to get my first tattoo (which, I had planned since I was sixteen). I have worked on perfecting my manuscript for just as long, and am still delaying attempting publication. I lived at home long after I really needed to, making sure when I moved out I wouldn’t have to deal with the whole moving back home thing. And I waited two years before getting back into the dating world, and calling someone my “boyfriend.” I like to make sure when I do something, it’s going to be right.
Lately, the boyfriend and I have been talking about moving in together.
I’ve never really thought seriously about living with a boyfriend before. With Andrew, we passed the idea back and forth as a “what if”–a nice dream, a someday. But–and I didn’t realize until after we broke up–the reason I don’t think it ever happened because both of us knew that it was never actually going to happen. With the ex-boyfriend, I never once thought about living with him, even after he lost his place to live and was sleeping on friend’s couches and frustrated about his lack of apartment. Never once did the idea even cross my mind.
But now, the idea doesn’t scare me. It excites me. It’s not that I don’t love living with my roommates. They’re awesome, and fabulous, and we always have fun. But the thing in, I’m starting to realize that I think I’m ready for this big scary step, and that whole making a future thing. It just seems… right. And so we’ve been looking into places (on my side of the bridge, because he knows it’s important to me to be close to my family), putting a tentative date on it, and planning what our future home will be like. It’s kind of terrifying, but exciting in the best way.
The future has always scared me, and I’ve never been very keen on the idea of being a grown up. But for the first time in my life, I have never been more excited to “grow up.”