(Post 206 of 263)

Five years ago today, I got the keys to this house. That marks the longest time I have continuously lived in one home. I technically lived in the RV for just shy of eight years, from late August of 2008 to late June of 2016, but I spent about 18 months of that time away from it (six months in Lethbridge, a year total in Mazatlán, plus most of the summer of 2012 and all that travelling to and from Mexico), so while that does total about 6 years, they weren’t continuous.

I can barely remember those early days, they seem so far away. But I have the odd photo to remind me of just how big and cold and empty the house was at the beginning. Yet, inexplicably, I always knew it was going to be my home.

Making a home hasn’t just been about buying it and beginning to renovate it to my tastes. It’s also been about making a life here.  Because I’m such a homebody, I have been very slow to develop routines that will ground me in this part of Mérida, but I’m finally getting there, having settled on my favourite (or at least most convenient) stores and suppliers, having an activity (Pilates) that gets me out of the house regularly, and there’s now, finally, an independently owned coffeeshop on my regular route where they know my name and my order.

I’ve had a lot of milestones in this house — finding and losing Bonita, finding Alma, losing my best friend Bast, jumpstarting my career…

But the most important thing that happened to me in this home was the epiphany I had at the start of the pandemic about needing a home port and Mérida being by far the best place I’ve ever been to live through such a calamity. So while the city isn’t perfect, it has the things that matter, like security, good governance, and a stable, modern infrastructure. And so, I’m happy to be putting down real roots here.