Recently, I took a look at my living room. About two months after moving, I was just starting to feel at home.

I closed on the property April 30^th, had it painted the first week of May, had my belongings deposited during the middle of May, waited impatiently for my new wall unit and couch to be delivered the 2^nd week of June, bought bedroom furniture, and picked up some stereo equipment from craigslist advertisers during the weeks that followed. As it has been pointed out before, moving is a process, not an event.

I have friends who keep To Do Lists. They faithfully place check marks after an action item has been executed. I know other people who keep Ta Da lists. Check marks are made the same way, but the feeling after completing a task is more celebratory, reflecting a sense of accomplishment, not merely unburdening.

It’s only natural to want to see progress along a path. My fireplace became a symbol of making a property I purchased my home.

When I first saw the place, the living room, including the fireplace,  was a dark gray and the walls were lined with wooden shelves and bric-a-brac galore. The bathrooms were purple. Although not decorated in my style, I still liked the flow of the space and saw potential.

I had the whole place painted a light pebble green the first week I had keys – except the fireplace, which I was told had to be covered in a special heat-resistant paint. It remained a gunmetal shade of gray. My painter was not able to find this kind of paint at Menard’s and we agreed that he would come back to paint the fireplace when I had other jobs for him.

Weeks passed. I bought a new duvet and a set of silverware. I created a small inventory of air filters (which I promise to change monthly). I moved my meditation stool to my bedroom and hung artwork. Things got checked off my To Do List, but I’d see the gray fireplace, and I didn’t feel like the space was mine.

Then I texted the painter and asked him if he could finish painting the fireplace. I no longer wanted the completion of painting to depend on having other work for him. He happened to be finishing a small job not far away and agreed to come over later that afternoon.

The fireplace was painted white. All remnants of gray were covered. He installed new sconces on either side of the mantel. I still had rugs and a new dining room fixture to buy, but the place seemed fully mine now. I ran the ceiling fan at low-speed and sat on my couch. I felt at home now.

Seeing a white fireplace, or anything that can represent a completion, is no small thing.