The Space that Made Us

If home is where the heart is, then I’ve left a big piece of mine in the apartment we just moved out of. Concrete walls, three large windows, one bedroom, one small bathroom, a dark dining room and a sunny living room — all steeped in seven and half years of the most precious and transformative memories of my life.

People speak of homes having “character”. In that sense, this apartment had the inherent coziness and charm of the best of ‘em. But, this wasn’t just a space I lived in, it was a character — in my personal story, my business, my work, and to a lesser extent, the lives of anyone who had the privilege of spending any significant amount of time there. As I reflect back on the years spent in it, I recall the many ways in which our first home set the foundation for our marriage, but also held space to learn, stretch, and grow in more ways than we could have imagined.

A romantically rocky start

Will and I began the lease to our place on October 1, 2015. Ten days later, we were married, and were spending a single night in our bedroom before jetting off for a 10-day honeymoon to Italy. We returned home around the unofficial start to the Christmas season. My favourite time of the year, made only sweeter knowing it’d be our “first” of many. I was so excited to decorate, get cozy, and really dig into the holiday spirit. The only problem was, all we had in our home was Will’s old double bed, a TV, a thrifted TV console, and an old sleeping bag that was serving as our makeshift couch. We were hopelessly in love newlyweds, starting totally from scratch. And, as sweet and romantic as that sounds even as I’m writing it, it felt anything but in the moment.

Less than a week after returning from our whirlwind Italian honeymoon, here I was, sitting on a sleeping bag on the floor of our living room where a couch should be, crying, begging Will to take me to my Mom’s house, yelling, “this isn’t my home. I want to go home!” Never having been one for change, no matter how positive it be, the adjustment to living in his new (empty) space was proving much more difficult than I’d anticipated. For some reason, I’d assumed the euphoria of marrying the love of my life and finally moving in together would override any of the emotional, financial, and relational growing pains of this new life. Boy, was I wrong.

What followed was loving reassurance and consolation from my ever-so-patient husband. He promised that sooner than later, this empty space, where the echoing sounds of my cries were bouncing off the walls, would one day feel like home and I’ll be crying to not want to leave. And, since we were so close to Christmas, he insisted that we go buy that Christmas tree that was on our “To Buy” list as soon as possible. “But, we don’t even have a couch, or a dining table, or chairs, yet!”, I protested. It didn’t matter; he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

The next night, after a festive jaunt to our local Canadian Tire, there I sat, squeezed onto a fold-out step stool, with all the lights in the apartment shut off, admiring the glowing, fully decked out faux Christmas tree standing 8-feet tall in the middle of our empty living room. We had nothing else, but in that moment, this was everything I needed.

Locked down and out

I imagine we’ll all remember where we were when this thing called “the coronavirus” was officially declared a global pandemic. Consequently, if you weren’t already at home, as we were, you were quickly headed there.

It may be “home, sweet home”, but when forced to remain confined to it, it can quickly and easily become bitter and suffocating. During this time, despite it being our shelter and refuge, I began growing tired, and even resentful of my space. Suddenly, with both my husband and I working full-time from the living and dining rooms, I became acutely aware of how cramped it was, how little morning light it got, and how desperately it needed central A/C.

The honeymoon period was over, and our time spent in lock down was emblematic of that. Frustration mounted at endless restrictions from the authorities —not being able to travel, see family and friends, or even go out for a nice meal. On top of which, we were forced to put other major life decisions on hold due to the pandemic — including whether we should try for kids, or whether we should even stay in Canada, or move elsewhere. With only one another in our daily orbits, Will and I were often taking our frustrations out on each other — bickering, getting snippy, and only having solo walks available as an outlet with which to cool off and, thankfully, eventually reconcile.

Out of the seven and a half years of living in our place, nearly half of those were spent under the constant threat of COVID-19. Over the many stretches of lock downs, we’d go months looking out the single, large window of our living room, wondering when this would all be behind us. We even had to resort to cutting our own hair during this time. Thankfully, despite getting hit by a short bout of the 2nd wave of the virus, Will, myself, and our families came out of that dark time relatively unscathed, though understandably a bit stir crazy and itching to get back on a plane again.

There’s no place like home

It wouldn’t take long after meeting me to learn that travel is one of my biggest passions (and, expenses). Starting with our Italian honeymoon, Will and I travelled overseas at least twice a year prior to the pandemic, and even managed to squeeze in some small trips closer to home during it. Whether we’d just been on safari in Kenya, taken in live music in Nashville, or rode horseback Argentina, somehow the best experience of traveling really was safely setting foot back in our own place. Most of our return flights landed at night, which meant ordering a pizza while still in the Uber ride home, plopping down onto the couch (yes, we did eventually buy a couch 😜), and sinking our teeth into a piping hot slice. Peak satisfaction after a long journey.

In fact, early on in our travels, we’d even become Airbnb hosts for a short while, before our landlord booked us, of course. We’d managed to host a few really great guests from around the world. Despite the stress of having to immaculately clean the apartment while also packing and prepping for our own travels, I relished creating and curating an inviting, warm, and comforting place for our guests. I set up a special coffee station, left them personalized notes and recommendations, and had a beautiful, fresh cut floral arrangement on the coffee table, welcoming them to our home. Needless to say we got nothing but stellar, 5-star reviews. Our home served us, and others, while we were away, and again as we returned. I’d love to one day own a country, or small town home that I can put up as an occasional or seasonal short term rental. Less so for the money, but more for being able to be creative and share a space that I love.

Our first apartment saw us start our lives together, welcome our puppy, our firstborn son, and was the setting for so many happy and not-so-happy memories. It’s where I’d learned of the death of both of my grandparents, as well as that of a close family friend. It’s where I learned I was pregnant. Where we’d recorded our podcast (under a blanket fort in the living room!). And, where I started (and sold) my company.

In our last moment there, Will and I sat together on the floor of our once again empty apartment, in the same spot that was once home to that single sleeping bag, consumed with tears and overcome with gratitude. We reminisced, laughed, prayed, and thanked God for nearly eight incredible years spent amidst those four walls. And, I remembered that Will was right, after all. This place really did become ‘home’; here I was crying to not have to leave. But, as sad as I am to have closed that chapter, I’m excited for the next one and can’t wait to take you all along on that journey with me.

To being transformed by new places and spaces…

Cheers,
Octavia