Home, Sweet Home

I often joke with my friends and family about how much I've moved over the years. But when my lawyer asked me to provide a list of all the places I've lived in the last ten years, I realized just how much of a nomad I've really been. This is what it looked like:

2000 - The house I grew up in, Newmarket
2004 - Grenville Residence at Carleton University, Ottawa
2005 - Townhouse, Nepean
2006 - Main floor of a duplex in Chinatown, Ottawa
2007 - High-rise apartment near Carleton, Ottawa
2008 - Four-bedroom house, Northern Etobicoke
2008 - One-bedroom apartment, Southern Etobicoke
2010 - Tiny bachelor in the Beaches, Toronto
2010 - Two-bedroom house, Hamilton

The fact that I've lived in nine different places in seven years means a few things. I've lost or left behind a lot of my stuff. I've spent hundreds of dollars on moving trucks and other moving expenses. I have a very difficult time remembering postal codes. And I have mail all over greater Toronto and Ottawa.

Most importantly, though, it means that I haven't been able to call a place 'home' with a straight face for a long time. Don't get me wrong-I know this isn't all that unusual for someone my age and I'm certainly not complaining. Each move happened for a good reason and I don't regret them at all. Maybe with the exception of my 2006 move to Chinatown in Ottawa. Our place there was a construction zone for months, with open sewage in what was called the basement but looked more like the set of the scariest movie you've ever seen. We had to share our shower with the neighbours upstairs for a while and people used to go through our trash right in front of us while we were sitting on the front porch. Luckily, we were an easy going bunch and we turned it into a good year.

But when I was there and everywhere else since I left home in 2003, I always knew it was temporary. And while that feeling was fine, even good, when I was a partying student without a care in the world, I think I've had enough of it. So when my lawyer handed me the keys to my own place earlier today, I was pretty happy about it. Finally, I can lay down some roots and get settled in for a while. No more calling the bank or Rogers and guessing at what address they have in the system. No more need to use my car as a storage unit. I'm going to unpack every box instead of leaving some for the next move. I'm going to paint the walls inside and water the plants outside. I might even pick-up this month's edition of Canadian Living. Ok, that's going too far. But I am going to take care of the place and act like I'm sticking around for a while. Something I've never really done in my adult life.

There might be times when I miss the noncommittal nature of the past few years. When I was a bit younger and didn't own much that couldn't fit in my trunk. But for now, even as I look across the empty room at the broken screen door that I'll have to fix, there's only one thing on my mind: damn it feels good to be home.