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When I get home from work and open my door.
I’m in my 40s and have just recently achieved “having my own place” for the first time in my life, and it’s so incredible.
I love having a sanctuary, a place that I am guaranteed to be able to unwind.
For the first couple months after I moved in here, any time a door would slam in the building, I’d think “Oh darn they’re home”.
Because my whole life before this, alone time was something I got when whoever I was living with happened to be out. I therefore couldn’t control the alone time, and it could end without warning at any time. I’d be in my unwinding phase, recuperating from life and social contact, and then slam the front door would close and my mom, or my roommate, or whoever, would be home.
So now, my favorite part of the day is when my commute is over, and I open the door to my apartment, and it’s just so … mine. Like every aspect of the place is a reflection of a decision I made. I finally have a home.