When I was younger, I couldn’t wait to leave the house. Being out in the middle of everything, and usually ending up somewhere I had no business being, just felt right. I wanted plans, people, concerts, road trips, anything besides being home. I wouldn’t pay my cell phone bill so people couldn’t get a hold of me, and I was pretty much a disaster.
Now, home has become my favorite place to be. I’ve taught myself to cook, I love cooking from scratch, and I rarely want to eat at restaurants. My life never got smaller. It just got fuller.
Home is where my husband makes me laugh, where my daughter turns the house into a disaster ten minutes after I finally sit down after spending the last four hours cleaning, and where my son plays his guitar, shows me songs he taught himself on the piano, and makes fun of me for doing things weird and calls me silly names.
Cooking changed too. What used to feel like a chore now feels therapeutic. I love trying new recipes, spending hours in the kitchen, and feeding the people I love. There’s something satisfying about slowing down, making food from scratch, and creating something that brings everyone to the table.
Teenage me would probably think adult me is boring. Adult me knows that peace, comfort, good food, and being home with the people I love is actually pretty exciting.
I also think teenage me would be shocked to learn that one day I’d choose staying home over going out, spend an entire Saturday making dinner from scratch, and genuinely enjoy it. She’d probably roll her eyes and ask what happened to me.
I’ve cleaned up my life a lot, for the better. I really needed it, otherwise I’m not sure where I’d be right now.
Whining, Wine-ing & Winning 
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