My home is a rustic old thing that I bought twenty percent off the original price. I never expected for the landowner to sell it to me, but I suppose I looked pitiful back then: long, unruly hair, patched-up clothes I inherited from my grandpa, and a beat up car from a brand that went bankrupt and no longer exists.

I worked from this house daily. It stayed with me through all my partners, all my jobs, and all my break-ups. Many things were broken within the first few years because I was too busy, but something changed when I got promoted at work. I clearly remember buying furniture for this house and being so excited. I smile at the memory.

It’s been a while since then; though it’s only been a few months since I quit my job to start a business. My clothes no longer match the house aesthetic — it’s too polished and refined.

Now, I’ll start a new journey in the city in the penthouse I bought for twice the original selling price. I turn in the keys and never look back.