We say our goodbyes, and as I head back inside, I can’t help wondering again about my new neighbor.
A ganjapreneur?
Part of me hopes not, but the rest reminds me that it’s not up to me. My opportunity to purchase that space and expand my roastery has passed. Someone else jumped on the deal, and I guess I’ll meet them when I meet them.
Whenever that may be.
Move-In Day
Holly
Excited anticipation and nervous anxiety war in my gut as I drive into the main part of town, but I can’t stop grinning. Even though I’ve officially lived here for a few months now, I still can’t get over how freaking adorable Pineberry Springs is.
I’ve mostly been in hermit mode, setting up my new house and tending to my plants, so I’ve barely interacted with anyone in person here yet—just the grocer, the people at the bank and the post office, and the guy who owns the local mercantile—but the folks I’ve met so far have been incredibly nice. Friendly. Helpful. Seemingly sincere.
I don’t quite trust it yet, but I want to.
I also know that might take time. Healing, like growth, is far from linear, and I’m still deep in my crucible of healing right now unfortunately, but things are getting better.
So far, this town is everything I’d hoped it would be when I purchased my new house and that space downtown—small, cute, and quiet.
Nothing like Denver, where I moved here from. Or even San Francisco, where I grew up.
The best thing about this place, though? It’s a fresh start. A clean slate from which to build the life I want to live. One that can be whatever I want it to be.
One that is unequivocally mine.
While it’s a little daunting to be the new girl in town, there’s also something so freeing about the fact that no one knows me here. No one knows who I am, what I’m capable of, who my family is, who I dated before… or how he wrecked my life.
Thank the Goddess for that.
It’s nice walking around like a free person, without a sympathetic look in sight or anyone asking in hushed tones if I’m okay.
And for the first time in close to a year, I actually feel like I’m okay.
More than okay.
Maybe even good.
My cousin Amber’s words float into my head as I stop at a tiny intersection to let a woman and her dog cross the street.
“Get busy living, or get busy dying.The time’s gonna pass either way.”
The woman gives me a friendly wave, and I smile and wave back, feeling somehow lighter for the random interaction with a seemingly kind stranger.
“I’m busy living,” I remind myself, proceeding further into town. “For real this time.”
And I really am.
As much as I miss my mother, Goddess rest her soul, the inheritance that transferred to me when she passed a few years ago made it possible to get a clean break from my failed business venture and life in Denver.
Sabotaged, more like, but that’s in the past, and I promised myself I’d not dwell on the past. My abusive ex doesn’t deserve even a retrospective, especially after everything he put me through.
I inhale deeply, re-centering myself, and speak three things I’m grateful for to bring me back into this moment.
“A place for all my plants, a fresh start, a new community to serve.”
I’m also grateful for the construction team that handled getting the property downtown up to code and renovated for my new floral boutique so it was move-in ready.
