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Going Goethe: Part Three

August 8, 2016

A few months have passed since I moved into my home on Goethe Street. At the risk of sounding trite, I have fallen in love — both with the neighborhood and my little fixer-upper. By now, I belong. I’ve got my routines, favorite spots and the familiarity that comes with time spent in a new place.

The small things are what get to me. In the mornings, I brew a pot of drip coffee and make toast with strawberry jelly. Depending on my schedule and how I feel, I will do one of three activities: (1) watch the Today Show, (2) do a bit of a Bible study, or (3) play bossa nova and write. Today is a (3) day.

Once dressed and ready, I’ll head downstairs and out the door to a warm summer morning. Dearborn Street is quite lush, and it’s especially peaceful before lunchtime. I am greeted by elegant row houses and lamp post flower baskets — on my corner, they are pink. From where I live, I can walk to my office in less than fifteen minutes, passing boutiques and al fresco cafés. It is the loveliest commute.

My days are varied. Sometimes, I’ll have paperwork and marketing to focus on, and other times, I am busy running from showings to meetings to events. No matter my agenda, there is nothing I love more than returning home at the end — especially if I can time it right. Around 8 o’clock, the sun sets in the western sky, filling my living room with hues of rose and gold.

If I’m in on a weeknight, I’ll cook dinner (translation: turn frozen food into hot food), light a candle and change into pajamas. After a long afternoon of go-go-go, there is nothing better than pure, easy rest. I am torn between mornings and evenings — in this space, I cherish them both.

These are my “me” moments, but I’d be remiss if I did not mention how it feels to share my home with others. To sit by the window and sip tea with a new friend. To watch the cheesiest shows and drink cheap Chardonnay with an old one. To lay on the floor and talk about our biggest fears and worries with a dear sister-in-Christ.

Life on Goethe Street is not perfect. Yesterday, I had to pour half a container of a miscellaneous poison down my sink drain in hopes of unclogging it. Now and then, I feel lonely. As always, deals come together and fall apart. Life is never perfect.

But this chapter — the Going Goethe chapter — is still one of the best seasons, and I am thankful.

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