Choosing the Bigger Life

Photo courtesy of Gratisography

Sunday, March 29th, 2026

A friend swung by on Friday just to say hi. She was in the neighborhood. She’d moved away a few years ago and recently moved back. She was my realtor for my first house.

The conversation was casual. Low stakes. We talked about me reaching out to her for info on the condo for sale across the street. The long term value of a town home versus a condo. 

We talked about where I’ve been living—in our mutual friend’s house—and I heard myself say it out loud for the first time:

It’s nice. But it’s not mine. None of this is mine.

For the last two years, I’ve basically been living in a well-decorated hotel with spotty maid service.

To be fair, I’m one of the maids.

On Saturday, I woke up to emails from her—current listings. After the gym, I wandered into a few open houses. No plan. Just curiosity and good lighting. It was a beautiful sunny day.

There was one house I couldn’t get into without help—the one with the big backyard. Room for the dogs to run. A felled tree that would be perfect for growing mushrooms for years to come. I drove by it twice. It is an older home, but that might be ok.

I emailed her back that night detailing the places I saw, what I liked, what I didn’t. I mentioned the places I didn’t see and the ones I couldn’t see without her help. 

I woke up on Sunday to an invite that we go looking that afternoon. We went to see one with a small yard, the one with the big backyard, and small new build by the high school. She had one on her list that I had already seen. And another that I hadn’t, so we went to that one too.

There were two real options out of all of them. Neither had a felled tree. I recognized something I felt I was beginning to lean towards in PA. I would do best in a new build. 

The house by the high school was small. the location was good though. It was bigger than my apartment in Brooklyn, but possibly less storage space. Technically, it was fine. 

But I could already start to feel it — the future version of me, six months in, pacing. Negotiating with the walls. Trying to convince myself I could live with them closing in long enough to make a profit.

I’m not interested in that.

“Choose the bigger life,” I heard in my head.

I’m tired of waffling.

I’ve held my job for seven years now — which feels unreal when I say it out loud. I’ve been threatening to quit the entire time.

And yet: It’s a good job, that pays me well, where I like the work and I like the people and I barely have to go into the office, 

It’s a sweet deal.

At some point, I need to stop arguing with reality when it’s actually working in my favor. It’s ok to admit that I’m lucky. I don’t need to sit by the door just in case I need to make a quick exit.

So I said, “fuck it, let’s go.” And then I said it again.

she drew up an offer. And I filled out the paperwork. It was submitted the next morning and by that night, we were pending.

Just like that, the life I’ve been half-living snapped into focus. This isn’t just about a house.

This is about committing—to Seattle, to this version of my life, to the awareness that the temporary holding pattern that I’ve been in can only be made temporary through my own action. Because the truth is, my life here is good. No—better than that.

My life here is actually fucking fantastic.

I have friends.
I have stability.
I have people I care about, who care about me.

And now, I’m going to have a home. My own home. My own NEW home!

One I don’t have to share. One where I can do whatever I want. One I can decorate however I want!

Minimum things to dust. Maximum animals. The giraffe is coming back. The cuckoo clock is coming out. The sailfish is coming home. The birdshade lamp will be in the works.

It’s going to be unhinged in the best way. I miss my stuff.

And then there’s the garage. An empty garage with a concrete floor I can absolutely destroy. Paint, Clay, glue—whatever. I can ruin it and then just… paint over it later.

No worrying about making a mess, or having to look at the disaster day after day, or covering everything with drop cloths to prevent even the tiniest splatter.

This is the studio. This is the part that might matter the most.

I feel free. Not in a dramatic, cinematic way. More of a quiet, undeniable way.

Something’s finally clicking into place. I stopped tip-toeing around my own life and I’m finally stepping into it.

As my mom might say, “It must be nice.”

It is. It really, really is. I’m buying a house. On my own. For myself. AND!

It’s brand fucking new! That new car scent, still lingering in the air.

I didn’t think I could do this. I didn’t think this was a thing people like me could do.

But here we are.

Offer accepted. Keys pending.
plenty of time ahead of me to figure it out.

This is me, choosing the bigger life. Welcome home.

Stay Gritty