An Ode to my Little Nook
The first time I laid eyes on what would become my future home, I knew I needed to live there. Nestled on a quiet hill across the street from Minto Brown Park, this renovated basement apartment, which I now refer to as my little nook, is set on five acres of land filled with apple trees and flowers. The surrounding neighbors are far enough away that you feel secluded, and there’s the feeling that you’re far away from the city despite it being a ten-minute drive. It was, in my mind, the perfect situation.
I saw the listing on Zillow during my daily search for available apartments.
This was back in January 2024. No offers had come in yet on the home my ex-husband and I had listed for sale, and the home I was still living in, but I was hopeful one would come through soon. Living in a house furnished with only my bedroom amenities, and therefore only having my bedroom to live, sleep and eat in, was starting to take its toll. There was this feeling of isolation and loneliness that went with living in such a barren home. Things felt particularly bleak during the ice storm we had that winter, when everyone was stuck inside.
But this listing made me feel hopeful that perhaps an end to living like that was in sight.
The idea of moving into a standard apartment complex once my house sold, after having been a homeowner for three years, did not excite me one little bit. Just another way in which I’d be taking a step backwards. That’s what I thought, anyway. That’s how it felt.
So when I saw this place come available, I became desperate with the need to live there. I was in love with everything about it, from the unique layout to the peaceful location. Except— an offer still hadn’t come through on my house, and places like this apartment were bound to get swiped up quickly. But what the hell. I filled out an application anyway, paying the $30 fee. The following weekend, I was invited to an open house to view the place in person.
Walking through the funky space, I saw, in a very visceral way, where all of my things would go, should I live there. Where Magnus’s food container would sit in the kitchen. How I would position my couch, my TV. Even the way I’d hang my clothes up in the closet. All of these images in my mind were very vivid, and I held onto them like a fist grasping precious jewels.
Then guess what happened?
An offer came through on the house that evening. What timing, right?
The next week, after slightly harassing the property manager (in a nice way, okay?), I found out the owners of the apartment approved my application, with a move-in date of mid-February, a few weeks before we closed on the house.
I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason, but I do believe that this – my little nook – happened for a reason. The property is quiet. My landlords are sweet and let me keep to myself while also making sure I’m taken care of. They give me fresh vegetables from their garden and let me collect eggs from their chickens sometimes. Up until last summer, they owned a horse named Buff, and I’d live out my former horse-girl dreams by wandering into his paddock and feeding him carrots and apples. Magnus got to run around the backyard. We were across the street from the park, where he and I walked or ran to often. I sat outside on my patio most summer mornings and sipped on coffee and listened to birdsong. This space has allowed me peace and healing in ways I desperately needed.
But what’s more: I got to live alone for the first time. I got to decorate the space in the way I wanted. My room has a built-in bookshelf, which I filled with books and puzzles and games. I have a pair of gold curtains hanging up on my doors leading out to the patio. I have animal bones on the windowsill and a bundle of sage next to those. I have mismatched artwork on the walls and rugs on the floors. Every time I walk into my home, whether I’ve been gone five minutes or five days, it’s like being hugged by a good friend. I feel warm and safe.
My little nook is the first space I’ve ever lived in to ever truly feel like home. And my heart aches when I think about leaving it.
It’s funny how physical spaces can impact you like this. Become a part of you. I’ve been shaped by living here. The first weekend I moved in, I pumped up an air mattress, bought a TV and set both things up in my room. Almost instantly, I felt some of the stress and anguish dissolve inside my body. I didn’t realize the weight I was being crushed under while I waited for the house to sell, a house made up of all the memories of a life that felt so far away. So foreign.
As I start to sell all my things and prepare to leave my little nook in December, I try to stop and look around and take it all in. I’m so grateful to have lived here. I’m going to miss my home. The whole-body sigh I take whenever I walk into it. Thank you, little nook, for seeing me through the last (almost) years. It’s true that you can make a home out of anywhere, but I think this space was already mine, it was just waiting for me to find it.
When I gave my notice to my landlord, he said he was sad to see me go. “I figured you’d be here for the long-term,” he said.
“I thought I would be too,” I said.
I am so glad you have been able to have this space. Healing place for you. I hope you find the same in Nepal.
So hard knowing what you have gone through. I do believe it will make you stronger. Love you!!
Love this…beautifully written and touched my soul! ❤️
It was such a great place for you to land. But you haven’t yet visited all the places that you will love and that will love you. ❤️