Liminal Spaces And Those Who Love Them
Some might say that I’m a perfectionist.
Others might say that I’ll just never be happy no matter what.
Personally, I prefer the term, “perpetual furniture mover.” I come from a long line of “perpetual furniture movers.”
You’d come downstairs one Saturday, and the entire living room would be different – now the chair is in the corner, the couch is against the wall, the lamp is…is it in the same spot or a different spot? You can never be sure. Wasn’t everything fine the way it was?
And maybe it was fine. But it could be better. Maybe you’re one rearranged dining room away from finally being happy. At first you move all the big stuff around. Then you think about moving all the little stuff around. Then you think about replacing one piece of furniture. Then you replace one decoration. Then you replace a few more pieces of furniture in other room and a few more decorations. Then you finally love everything the way that it is. Until you don’t and you have the uncontrollable urge to move shit around. It’s one big domestic cycle.
When I walked around my old house, I knew where everything lived. Sure, I would get the urge to move my couch or replace an end table, but that small amount of change felt surmountable next to a foundation of constants: My broom goes by the back door. The dirty rags go in the basket on top of the washing machine. There is enough room in the kitchen for all the pots and pans.
It was home because it was where I lived, but it was also home because I understood it. It was comfortable in the same way where when you tell your best friend a story about your family, you don’t have to remind them of your sister’s name. There’s context. There’s history.
After the first week at my new place, most of my things were out of boxes. But it still didn’t feel like anything had a home. There’s no history yet. Sure, the record player is sitting on top of this shelf today, but is that where it will live forever??
As much as I want to force things into their rightful place, I know that takes time. I’m a bit of a control freak. Letting go ain’t easy. I look around my apartment and get frustrated that all my stuff is here, but doesn’t feel like home yet. I love this place. I truly can’t imagine picking a better place. In a lot of ways, I like this apartment more than my last house! But I’m still a long way off from having settled into all the cracks and crevices. I dream of the day where I know every corner by heart. but we’re not there yet. One day.
I don’t like not having answers. I don’t like having a bunch of framed art and mirrors just sitting against a wall wasting space, but I also don’t like throwing stuff up on a random wall and regretting it and then having to deal with a bunch of holes in my walls because I couldn’t be patient and live with a little discomfort for a while.
In that discomfort is also potential. I can do anything I want with this new place! Nothing has a home yet, so there are no arbitrary rules that I must follow! I can take as much time as I want to really figure this space out! There’s no rush! I don’t have this place memorized yet. And while there is comfort in commitment and context, there is excitement in newness and novelty. Me and this apartment can be anything we want to be! Who knows what the future holds! There might not be any history, but that means there also aren’t any ghosts yet. There are no memories - good or bad - living in these walls - just hopes and dreams for the future.
It’s not always comfortable. I’m soaking up that time before everything in the apartment just kind of settles into the spaces where it probably will just stay. Sure, I’ll always be moving furniture around and I’ll never stop thinking about the ways things could be different, better. But right now, I’m just living in that in between.
Hi! I’m Anna Carter, a GFE escort in Manhattan, NYC. I’m originally from Atlanta, GA.