For most of my life I’ve been my own worst enemy.  I know this about myself, and yet I still allow things to happen that I should really know to avoid.  It’s very frustrating.

Take my health for instance.  My heartbeat has been regular, I’ve been feeling healthy.  I made it through a pretty strenuous move last Saturday with no problems at all.  Yet today, my heartbeat is up a little and I’m freaked.  It isn’t even up that much, and I know part of the reason it’s up is that I’m concerned because it’s up and I’m stressing myself out.  I  know this, and yet I keep winding myself tighter and tighter.  The more I tell myself to relax, the more tense I get.  It’s really quite ridiculous.

Then there’s the matter of the old apartment.  I had some furniture left over there that I didn’t want.  I got rid of the sofa and loveseat and single bed without incident.  Now all I have left is a table and chairs.  I had thought the Salvation Army or Goodwill would take them.  They would, as long as I can deliver them, which I can’t do as I have no way to transport them.  What I should have done was had the table and chairs brought to the new place as a precaution.  I, however, was so confident I could get rid of them that I chose not to do that.  Now, it appears I’m stuck.

I don’t understand why I feel the need to treat myself badly at times, but I’d really like it to stop.  I have finally learned to love myself and I’d like to express that by treating myself well at all times, not just when the mood strikes me.  After all, I wouldn’t accept this kind of treatment from anyone else who claimed to love me, why will I accept it from myself.

So, here’s my new resolution.  I’m going to treat myself with kindness and love.  I’m going to stop procrastinating when it comes to doing things that will benefit me.  I’m going to ask for help when I need it and I’m going to reach out to others more.

After all, we only get one life.  I should really put some effort into building that life into one I really want.

I’ve often wondered what turns a house into a home. Is it familiarity? Is it having all your stuff there? Is it feeling a connection to the people around you? What makes one place feel safe and like home and another place feel alien? These are the sorts of questions I’ve been facing lately.

I moved on Saturday. I can’t say the new condo feels like home yet, but I am more comfortable than I expected. I’ve been sleeping well, which I hadn’t thought would happen and, for the most part, I feel like I’ve settled in. For all that, this place still doesn’t feel quite like home though.

I’m waiting for that feeling of relief when I walk in the door. I want the knowledge that this is my safe place where I can relax and let my guard down. I do feel that somewhat, and I think the feeling will grow, but I still don’t feel like this is my place yet. I still feel like the condo and I are checking each other out, deciding whether or not we’ll work well with each other.

Mostly, I’m happy to be here. It was the right choice and a good choice for me. I just wish I felt more at home here. I know it hasn’t even been a week yet, and I’m sure it will happen, but patience has never been a virtue of mine. I want what I want and I want it now. In this case, I want to feel like I belong here, not like I’m staying in someone’s house and the owners will be back next week.

I think, as I add more of my own stamp to the house and get more of my own things put up it will start to feel more like home. Right now stuff is still in boxes and bags and that gives the place an unsettled feel. I’m going to work on getting stuff stored and put up this weekend and I think that will help. Until then, I guess I’ll just have to keep working on thinking of this place not as my house, but as my home.

I went to the new condo for the first time as the new owner yesterday. I wasn’t sure what I’d feel. As it turned out, what I felt was pretty much equal parts excitement and raw panic. I had a panic attack in fact. Heart racing, dizzy, scared that I was going into afib; that kind of attack. Luckily everything settled down and I felt much better in a while.

Sometimes I get very frustrated with myself. I know the reasons why these things happen, I can give you chapter and verse on why my brain and my emotions do what they do. I just can’t make them stop doing it.

In this case, the simple explanation is fear. When I had my bad year I was in a hole so dark and deep that it sometimes seemed the only way I’d come out of it was if I died. When I finally did come out of it, and I was on the other side, I made a decision, subconsciously I guess, that the best way to avoid going back into the hole was to build a life of moderation. I’ve written about that before.

Over the years I suppose I came to believe that the safest route was the route that didn’t tempt Fate or God or the Universe or whomever or whatever it was that seemed to be out to get me. I don’t claim my thought process is logical or even rational, but that didn’t matter. For me it seemed to make sense.

Then life started going fairly well. I got a good job. I made some good friends. I started working on some new projects that had a lot of potential. I bought a house. Suddenly my life had a lot of good in it and the basement dweller in me, the one who never wants to rock the boat, surged to the fore, terrified that all this good was only going to bring on a deluge of bad.

This of course led to the panic attack of last evening. When I can think rationally about having my own place, I’m over the moon. I’ll have privacy. I’ll have my own washer and dryer. I’ll have my very own deck where I can have my very own patio furniture and grill. Ill have pretty much all the stuff I always wanted and I very much want to enjoy it without fearing that the universe will try and “get” me because I’ve dared to fly too high.

I guess, in this case at least, it is a case of reality or mind. In reality, there is no force in the universe that is out to get me. In reality, you don’t have to pay for any good you receive by enduring some bad. Vengeful Gods exist only in mythology, and that’s just a bunch of stories. I just need to keep telling myself this.

After all, I’m expecting the Universe to bring on a lot more good.

Most of the time I’ve made my peace with the fact that Mom is no longer with us. It will be six years since she died in September, and the sharp rawness of new loss has been worn down a bit. Most of the time the hole where she used to be is closed over. Every once in a while, however, something happens that rips the scab off the wound and, for a brief time, I miss her as much as I did the day she died.

Buying a house was a great triumph and a victory for me. The one bit of sadness I had was that Mom wasn’t here to see it. She would have loved being a part of the process of looking for a house. She would have had a million ideas for how to decorate. She would have been so excited the day I moved and would have come to help supervise. She would have been so pleased and happy for me.

You can say, if you like, that she’s somewhere and she knows what’s happening, and part of me believes that’s true. I don’t find that much of a comfort though. She isn’t here, transparently happy and so pleased for me. I don’t get to see her relief and happiness that the kid who had such a hard start at being an adult turned out all right after all. I don’t get to hear her say she’s proud of me. I regret missing all of that.

I suppose each milestone that happens now will have a small bit of sadness in it. I guess I just have to take a moment to acknowledge the sadness and then move on and enjoy the happiness. If there’s one thing Mom always wanted for me, it was that I be happy. If she can see me now, I bet she’s smiling.

Tomorrow at 4 p.m. I sign my name on the dotted line and officially become a homeowner. This morning I thought we would probably have to wait until next week to close the sale, but things got worked out and now we close on schedule.

I’m simultaneously filled with excitement and completely terrified. On one hand, it’s an adorable place and I’m so thrilled that I am able to buy it. The condo has luxuries like central air and a dishwasher and small things that I’ve wanted but never had. I’ll also be able to have my own washer and dryer and considerably more privacy than I do now. It’s what I’ve been wanting for quite a while.

In the terrified column goes the fact that my mortgage is a lot of money. There’s also the fact that I’ve never had sole responsibility for a house. I’ve always rented, so if there was a problem I just called the landlord and they made arrangements. It’s not that I don’t think I’m capable, it’s just that I’ve never had to handle home repairs before. It’s suddenly hit me that this very large asset is solely in my hands.

I suppose there’s a tinge of sadness too. One reason for the sadness is the fact that my Mom isn’t here to see this. She would have been so excited for me and so proud that I was doing so well. The other element of sadness is the fact that I always thought I’d be buying a house with a man to whom I was committed. Instead, I’m buying it alone. I guess I always just assumed there would be someone there to whom I could say “Honey, what’s that noise” when the water heater started knocking. Not having that someone makes me a little melancholy.

Still, overall I’m ecstatic. I’m becoming a homeowner. If someone had told me 20 years ago that I would make it to here I never would have believed them. I’m immensely proud to be in this position and I plan to savor every moment.

I’ll admit it, I’m a bit of a performer. I like the spotlight and I like applause. It isn’t the only thing that motivates me, but I like being told that I’ve done a good job and I like having my hard work acknowledged and praised. I can get along without that, and I certainly know my own worth, but it is still nice to receive a pat on the back and a compliment every once in while.

My current dilemma is one that I’ve faced before.As usual I’ve managed to get drawn into something and essentially take on the entire burden of making everything work. I could be disingenuous and say I don’t know how that happens, but that wouldn’t be the truth. I do know how that happens. I get passionate about an idea and decide to throw my whole heart and soul into it and shortly after that everyone else realizes they can sit back and coast. I’ve done it to myself before. I’m doing it to myself again.

I suppose, actually I know, that I still have vestiges of the people pleaser left in me. I want to be liked and I want to be worthy so I try to be useful and helpful. There’s nothing wrong with that unless being useful and helpful starts to feel like a burden and a drain. Then it’s too much.

That, in a nutshell, is my dilemma. If I voluntarily take something on and even tacitly agree to do the bulk of the work, am I justified in getting angry later when no one says thank you? Can I change horses in mid stream and demand that the rest of the people with whom I’m working do more? Is it all right to tell everyone involved that I’m a little drained right now and I need a break so talk among yourselves?

I’m not sure yet what I want to do. Part of me just wants to say the hell with it and move on to other things. Another part wants to throw a temper tantrum. Yet another part is just saying shut up and see it through, there are people counting on you. Part of me also thinks I’m being a baby and very annoyingly whiny. Obviously there’s a bit of conflict.

Eventually I’ll work things out. I do know this, I do need to learn the lesson about taking things on only because I want to take them on, not because I think other people will admire or love me for taking them on. That’s a good lesson to learn, so, if nothing else, I can take that from this experience.

There’s a theory, one which I’ve never been sure I believed, that we all make our own reality. If bad things happen in your life, it’s because you subconsciously want those things to happen. If you’re constantly getting sick or getting hurt or short of money it’s because something in your belief system or how you think about yourself requires you have that issue in your life.

As I said, I’ve never much believed in that idea. I do understand how people can not think highly of themselves and cause themselves pain. I certainly understand self sabotage. I also know that people can make really wrong choices for what they think are the right reasons. Still, I’m not sure that I believe we have that much control over our lives. It just seems too easy.

If you’re wondering where I’m going with this, I’m going here, to my upcoming move. It started off so smoothly. It only took two weeks to find a place I wanted. The offer was accepted practically minutes after we made it and only had one very minor addendum. It looked like everything was going to be easy and smooth. I’ll admit to a bit of apprehension about moving and taking on a mortgage,but mostly I was ecstatic and excited. I certainly wasn’t, at least consciously anyway, trying to conjure up obstacles to the move.

Still, whether I conjured them or not, the obstacles are there. Bureaucrats got involved. Suddenly there’s all these things I must do and all these things I can’t do and I’m left standing uncertainly in the middle. As far as I know we close next Friday. As far as I know we close the twelfth of never. Take your pick.

I want to move. I’m eager to have a place of my own, and a place of which I can be proud. I’m ready for the responsibility and ready to take this step. So, if I’m so ready, why am I also wondering if somehow I’ve conjured up these obstacles so I can have a way to say back out? It’s a rather perplexing dilemma.

Right now all I know is this, next Friday I’m going to sign my name on a lot of dotted lines and take possession of a condo. I also know I like the condo and that I can manage the mortgage payments. The rest I guess we’ll leave up to whomever is in charge of these things.