Between these walls

A lot has changed here in the last two years; most of all, me.

It’s easy to write pretty things about finding the beauty in my life. Putting words on paper about wanting to stay awake to all that I have to be grateful for is simpler than the work of actually doing it. There are things, real circumstances and moments in my life that stretch me farther than I think I can be stretched. Can I find beauty here? Can I choose gratitude here?

Living in the loft—for two years now—has been one of those harder things.  

We live in the apartment on top of a free standing garage on the Frost land. Matthias’ parents generously allowed us to take over the space when it opened up. It’s been here for about 30 years and there hasn’t been very much time when it hasn’t been occupied by one sibling or another. 

Our plan was to live in here for few months as we built our home— but in that exact moment in history, wood and other materials basically doubled in price due to inflation, making our build an outrageous price. All of a sudden our home loan would be double and we couldn’t do it. 

Maybe, possibly we could’ve made compromises, but there were compromises we were unwilling to make. Alpha— the name we gave the home many years before we even started drawing it’s floor plans— has been in our hearts since before we even had children. We couldn’t go slashing out our dreams for the sake of inflation. We couldn’t swallow it. So we waited.  And waited… and waited. 

And then living here, in the loft, started to feel real. Real like: we’re actually going to live here. We are actually, actively living here. It went from transition spot for a few months, to our home, with no exit plan. 

It’s been a process living in the loft. Even just the renaming, for my own heart’s sake: “garage apartment” to “loft”, though more often than not, my family refers to it as “the treehouse” because of its views. And the renovations. Many, many thousands of dollars of renovations.

But even that’s not the process I’m referring to.

Neither is the 12 to 18 months it took us to get this place furnished and decorated. (I think I dragged my feet in this regard, hoping we’d be on our way out any moment.)

Really the process has been in my heart. I’ve been on a two year journey of learning to accept with gratitude what I’ve been given, and choosing to live with joy, even when my life doesn’t look like I imagined it would.

I didn’t think I’d be 27 moving into someone else’s garage apartment. I didn’t think we’d have three children in a two bedroom, one bathroom space.

But I can’t live there; in that place of ingratitude. 

This is our home, that is my reality right now. The only thing I can change is how I feel about it. Choosing to be let down by life circumstances only hurts me. So I’m choosing to see beauty in all areas of my life. And I’ve found that by softening myself, allowing myself to look for beauty in a place I didn’t want to, I’ve actually found more than a list of things to be happy about: I’ve found lovely peace.  

Choosing gratitude for this home has allowed my heart to expand and soften, finding a real love for the place we are lucky enough to be growing as a family.

I’m leaning into the goodness of it all. While I may hate renovations, I’ve found working on the space gave us a sense of ownership. This is the first place I’ve ever felt that. The first place that’s truly felt ours. We lived in apartments the first 6 years of our marriage and this is the first one we’ve made a home.

The last two years have taught me to listen closely, to keep my eyes open to every little thing that adds to the joy of being here. 

Our creaky second story porch is actually pretty romantic, it’s views into the tops of trees is unlike anywhere I’ve ever lived.

The sunlight that pours in each morning and evening adds magic to each end of our days, every day.

Between these walls, Emerson learned to walk. 

Auden was birthed peacefully, right in our living room. 

Almost every night, we gather in the boys bedroom and Matthias reads us books while we drink hot teas or coffee and the boys jump from their bunk bed to their nugget one thousand times. It isn’t the most peaceful reading time, but every night the boys beg for another chapter, and I love the ritual of being read to by their dad while I watch them play before bed. 

We’ve enjoyed every kind of dinner party here: the intimate, the rowdy, and the kind where you can barely get a sentence in because you’re so outnumbered by the people under the age of 4. 

And I celebrated my sobriety for the first time publicly at a party here with close friends and family. 

Our home, this home, right here, the garage apartment, the loft, whatever name you want to call it— it tells a story of a young family that loves art and values time together. Our furniture and design supports the kind of day to day living we want here, while infusing our lives with beauty. And we’re on property that allows my boys to spend as much time as they want adventuring outdoors. What else could I ask for? Dream of? I have so much to be grateful for.

When ugly thoughts pop up these days and I have to uproot discontentment, I do the work and give myself grace. I could beat myself up over not being perfectly grateful, perfectly content, having it all sorted out on the inside already, but instead of compounding my shame and beating myself up, I try to remember how much my heart has given and grown already and feel thankful. 

Thankful for the fact that I have really come to feel at home here. Thankful we’ve made the inside a haven that is functional and beautiful for this season of our lives. 

I love our wall colors, our kitchen, our table, our rug, our thoughtfully chosen art, our hundred books of photos that tell our story from newlywed til now, our drink bar that makes hosting a treat because I can make everyone lattes, or sparkling waters, or fresh sodas, or loose teas. 

This place has become home. 

A lot has changed here in the last two years, most of all, me.