For almost two years — since before the pandemic began — I was looking for a new home. I had been renting for more than 20 years. It was finally time to try to become a home owner. I was motivated by the fact that, depending on location, I could potentially pay less per month to be a home owner than I had been paying in rent. I was also motivated by all the many things I had come to hate about our old, poorly insulated, leaky, roach-infested city apartment.

The new home search consumed so much of my time. The combing through online listings, the viewings, and the eventual process of purchasing a place filled the spaces between days at work. There was so much to do, to consider and worry about, to plan for and wonder. I spent a lot of time just imagining how nice it would be to not live in an apartment where the bathroom leaked all the time.

Now it’s over. We have our own place. Two years of work and waiting has come to an end. The spaces between days at work are empty again.

I am having trouble filling them. On one hand, I have yet to find a new project that I’m 100% committed to. I have a few, but none of them have quite captured my attention the same way our house hunt had. One the other hand, I’m feeling a little lazy. I don’t think I need a break, but I just don’t seem to be able to muster the same sort of focus.

Maybe I’ve made myself too comfortable in our new home. There’s work to do to really make it home but doesn’t feel urgent. I’ll get around to it eventually. Right now it is nice to just lounge around and enjoy the calm of our new suburban environment and the relative peace and quiet in our new building.