nesting nights

it's been two weeks since i moved into my apartment. i am only a box or three away from being entirely unpacked though the settling and tinkering process will continue for months.

and it's been a rough two weeks.

half of that time was spent sick, the other half living into the grittier realities of having a space, of having this space, of being responsible to it, even burdened by it, and spending much of this time in a state of mild disappointment. i feel like a mother handed a perfectly healthy newborn and finding myself unable to love it with abandon. it's all late night screaming and dirty diapers at this point.

i know there is a lot here. a lot of potential. a lot of beauty. and in between me and all the good things i feel moving toward me is a whole lot of work, a lot of courage, and a simple dose of truth and movement.

one of my good friends stopped by last night to drop off the plants he has been so graciously watching for me these past eight months. as he stepped into the main living space he had the similar pause of awe most everyone encounters when they first see it. and as we sat there in our separate quiet, i was moved from no where i could name to say: great things will happen here.

and i sat in surprise at the truth of that statement.

yes, great things will happen here.

and i am not saying the world will be changed by the people that gather at the table, surround my fireplace, or through the art i make here, but my life will. greatly. far greater than i can foresee or even ask for at this point.

and the thought still pierces my heart a bit – a counterpart to the quiet longing for the other side i feel accompanying me most days. the other side of unpacking. the other side of uncertainty. the other side of transition.

later, after a simple meal shared over my old/new table, i laid all of the above out to my friend confessing the guilty secret of my {temporary} disconnection from the space. my heart spilled over for a moment in grief at the telling.

until.

until i saw behind him a curled up poem that another friend gave me for my birthday last year. it's lovingly printed and sewn together as a wall hanging that is only waiting for the perfect place to be displayed. when she gave it to me back in november she said it was a poem to welcome romance into my life. romance of all kinds but above and beyond anything, a romance for life itself.

i moved toward the poem, scooped it up, uncurled it, and read it aloud to my friend.

and damn, it hit home.

it hit that place that so longs for what the words offer, to live a love out into the world so truly, so passionately, so fiercely....and i spoke those words into the space around me, my friend as my witness, and suddenly the life of the space opened up to me. the potential became a thing around the corner instead of some unattainable future as something big shifted and opened inside of me.

and today i find i can rest now in hope. i can rest and breathe in possibility. and i can feel that some day soon, great things will start happening here.

{no longer nomad nights, but here is where i will lay my head for as long as i would like – more photos soon}.