A Late Grown Up

The first time I’ve felt like a grown up, or as much like a grown up as I think I can in this time of my life is quite recent. A strange thing when I’ve just turned 31 I know.

My Boyf Rob and I have shacked up, and been living in relative harmony the last 4 months! We have moved into a whole house together. This might seem like a relatively small thing, but to someone who has spent their adult life in house shares, this is huge!

We have a house, a whole house and our own entire house. We have three bedrooms that no one else will be renting. We have a living room which will not be let out as a bedroom. A dining room that won’t be let out as a room. A kitchen which won’t be- well that’s slightly exaggerating, but you get my point.

Living in London previously, I had no hope of getting a place of my own and you simply fitted as many people in as you could to bring down your crippling rent.  This is what initially brought me back to Wales to live. My plan was always to move home, and the fact I say move home means I left my heart in Wales.

Yes I’m biased, but let me stop you. I loved London. I chose to leave Wales for London to go to Uni, and enjoyed so much of what London had to offer, but the cost of living in London compared to Wales means I have more of a life since coming home. This is the same for others who have moved out of London. If you can make it in London on a low wage you can do anything!

I now live in Cardiff in a three bed terrace with garden and parking and all the little things you want and miss, with no one else having to live with us! This for me is adult and exciting.

Don’t get me wrong I have led a blessed life when it came to house shares and have always been in with friends who can tolerate my singing in the shower, and my singing in bedroom and my singing, well literally all of the time. Now all my little annoying quirks will be shared by someone else who is equally if not more annoying. And if we get sick of each other there are so many other rooms to escape to. It’s sweet sweet bliss.

This is not me being mean to my house share family, but as everyone knows, however much of a shared house family you become, there is one day when you say. I’m done with this. Whether it’s the random stranger someone else brought home walking in on you doing a doody, the pile of dishes that smash to the ground as you make the last move on dirty dish jenga, or even the tactical chess game of passive aggressive move your shit out of the living room conversation. The time comes and you want to live how you want to live.

I feel like such a child because so many people I know have been living like this for years, and now that I’ve moved back home I feel like London kept me young for so much longer. THANK YOU LONDON! All those back here have kids, and marriages, and mortgages, and I am nowhere near this. I still wake up most days clueless to what I’m doing but apparently blagging my way through it. I applaud everyone who’s got their shit together, I’m just not that guy yet.

So from my time warp, this is what being an adult is to me. It’s renting a place with your fella that only you two live in. It’s being able to have people over to stay and not checking with your housemates if they’re away so you can use their room. Or chucking a duvet on the couch in the living room. I have beds for people. Actual beds. I can host stuff without permission, and make dinner to last days because I won’t feel obligated to offer it around. There are things I can’t

even imagine right now but I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough, but for now there are rooms. So many rooms!

Maybe my optimism is cute and adorable and I will fall into the traps that all one on one home dwellers have without the buffer of a third party, but we shall see. Watch this space.