The Move, Part 1: Cohabitation Anxiety

I frickin' love living alone.

For the past five years, I've been in my "big girl" apartment, all by myself, living some version of the dream. This one bedroom, old school upper of a bright stuco house in the burbs has been my haven. I've lived above "my old lady" - who I'm still convinced has seances in the basement at night (or just really weird hours for laundry) - and have pulled together mismatch furniture / knickknacks into the perfect "twenty something" home.

Throughout my time here, there has been a variety of beaus, friends and family who have come and gone, stayed and went. But here I am now with one particular beau who outwitted, outlasted and outplayed the others in the game of relationship Survivor. And it's that very fella who is now scooping me up, out of the suburbs, into a new home downtown.

Cohabitation: it's the next frontier in adulthood.

That move is coming quickly, and yes, it's all very exciting and I'm stupid happy over the whole thing, but I'm also wickedly nostalgic. Granted, as a borderline pack rat, nostalgia comes in many forms (just ask the piles of old cards and movie stubs that I desperately cling to - my memories!), but this is a different kind of sentimental silliness. In this case, it's a sentiment towards my time of independence, of being young and single in a new city. A carefree existence - like a gypsy, but minus the caravan and curses...

Because moving in with someone I care about is like an awful prison?? Yeah, I know I just made it sound like that, but it's absolutely not that. It's just that living alone had such weirdly fun perks, and I'm just being honest when I say that I'll miss them. For example:

• Pants optional.
  Sure, they can be optional when living with someone too, but then I'd have to like, workout more so I don't feel self-conscious walking around naked. And ugh, working out more.
• Being able to pee with the door open.
  Again, could I do this while living with the beau? Sure. But I won't. Because I'm a g'damn lady, and the day he sees me pee is the day we break up. Sorry, modern cool couples who are totally okay with that, but it's just not my style.
• Dancing.
  With or without music. With or without vodka. Dancing around one's own place like a maniac, testing out those latest dance moves (just in case they finally call you back for that Center Stage sequel). There's nothing like busting a move when no one is watching and just groovin' your cares away. 
• Meal prep.
  Or lack there of. Feeding time runs on your schedule. You can experiment and if it doesn't work out, you can just trash it for the raccoons to fight over before anyone sees. No one is any the wiser, and no one but you will go hungry. Also, no one will eat your food in the fridge, so you'll never find your last yogurt gone. And, if you don't have food in the fridge, you can just get take out. Zero judgments, even if it is the third set of ToppersStix of the week. 
• Sickness.
  When I'm sick, I can be as lazy and disgusting as I want and not worry about getting anyone else ill. No more.
• The SIFWM factor.
  Living alone, I know where my stuff is. Things have their place and I either put them there or don't - it's up to me. Being a super paranoid and forgetful person, sometimes when living alone, I've ran into a "someone is fucking with me" situation. AKA, I put two figurines on my mantle and a week later, one of them is facing the opposite direction. There's NO way I moved it, so clearly, someone is fucking with me (my money is on the serial killer living in my attic). When there's another person cohabiting, it's a perpetual SIFWM situation. 
• Oldies but goodies.
  I listen to a lot of oldies music. My record player is typically bumpin' some golden jams of old. What happens when I no longer have a monopoly on the tunes?
• Lady time.
  Because sometimes I want to spend three hours trying to follow a hair / makeup tutorial on Youtube. And it usually involves a lot of swearing and broken dreams. Same goes for workout videos. No, I can't do a frickin' side plank and, yes, lipstick still illudes me - I'm trying!
• The bed.
  Sometimes I don't want to share. There, I said it. A good old fashioned starfish sprawl is necessary from time to time. 
• Free time, me time.
  There is nothing better than a two hour gab session on the phone, or having your girls over for some "let's eat pizza and bitch about our men" time. Do those go away when you live with the man you're gabbing about? There has to be some balance there. And you know, sometimes I just want to build a pillow fort, take the phone off the hook and disappear for awhile. Can I still do that?

You. Me. Oui.

Let's look at the root causes here. What am I really afraid of? ...Being judged? Change? Not being in control? Beyond any of that, I know what it really is that worries me: I'm terrified that I'll do something wrong, or will be a disappointment. What if I don't bring enough to the table? What if he decides, "Ugh, this bitch is crazy, I'm out"? AKA I'm freaking out. Just a smidge.

That's what happens when you're invested in another person: you want to keep them. So, all these silly worryings and nostalgia about living alone, it's really just me being afraid of moving forward and letting myself be happy with another person. Normally, I'm the only only one in control of my happiness (or sadness), and letting someone else in on that game is foreign territory. There is some serious adulting that needs to be done here. Need to put my big girl relationship pants on and grow on up.

Luckily, I know it's going to be amazing. Sure, I'll still refer to the time I lived in "that cute little upper in the village" with a big grin, and will tell a few single gal tales of my time there, but that's beside the point. What's really important is that I work through all this with the beau. Because now it's not just me who decides how this goes, it's we.

At the very least, I'm pretty sure "we" will be on board with the "pants optional" plan...


Click here for Part Two: In which I get to be Batman.