Hey, guys.
There's construction happening outside of my window, so if it is very tough to hear me, I'm very sorry.
I have eight days until I leave my wonderful, beautiful LA apartment to move back in with my folks in New York. Brooklyn, to be exact. And I know on my Substack I've talked about it a few times, actually, but now, we're here. It is January. I have until the end of the month to completely pack this beautiful sanctuary that I've cultivated up.
A lot in which I'm selling, a lot in which I am donating, especially in lieu of the LA fires. The only thing I really want to bring back with me is this damn couch. This was, like, the first investment that I made in furniture, ever. Living on my own.
But there is… nothing else that could trade in how beautiful it feels to have a space of your own than this.
I am so thankful to be moving back in with family. I am thankful that my parents are available to let me move back home. And that, in some way, shape, or form—not fully because they're Haitian—but in some way, shape, or form, they have allowed me the space to figure it out.
But nothing can replace the actual effort to build and to craft something for yourself like a home.
There's nothing like it.
You know, I think back to when I moved out for the first time in 2020 during the pandemic. It was for my 30th birthday. I've talked about this too. Moving out of Brooklyn to move to New Orleans and learning what having your own home even consisted of.
You know, learning about square footage when it comes to space, rent, landlords, utilities, what you can and can't do when it comes to decorating a home that is only temporarily yours, the kind of features that you want in your home, right? The kind of things that you want it to already consist of.
So then, anything else that you're adding to it is just a plus.And then seeing the eccentricity that homes already have, the spiritual energy that they already consist of.
My first place in New Orleans, she was special. She had a rickety knob, creaky floors, a chimney right in the middle with a fireplace right in the middle between the kitchen and the living room, two bedrooms, a bathroom in the back with a little hallway, a porch with banana trees outside, blue walls in the front, white walls in the bedroom.
And I remember, like, I loved her for what she already was. And then, when I walked in and I cultivated that space for the first time, I learned what it meant to create a sanctuary. And that is special.
It's so special. It's special when you get to invite people into that sanctuary. It's special when, as you begin to adjust to what that means for yourself, as you begin to adjust into who you are, you begin to mirror that into your space.
And it's special.
Just the journey of building your home is special. I do the same thing here in Los Angeles. LA, outside of my apartment, LA is its own thing. It has its wonders and it has its pitfalls. But my apartment, how I made my space… and it's different from what it looked like in New Orleans.
You know, the beautiful thing about New Orleans and even Brooklyn, what I was raised in, the home that I was raised in, it was very tropical.
It was very West Indian Caribbean.
There are wood pieces, gold accents, turquoises, greens, pinks, oranges, yellows, emerald greens, figurines, plants, white walls that you can play with or blue walls or coral walls, paintings, you know. Color was not a fear in my life.
And so, being able to see myself carry that tradition while creating new ones in my own expression, it is special knowing that you are home. That was one of the greatest things that I learned, especially because I got to move to different places and I got to recreate my idea of what a sanctuary is.
I can only do that because I know what it is that I want, because I know who it is that I am. And my home's helped. My home's helped. And so, it's really fascinating that I am leaving the home that I made to live in the home that I grew up in.
And how who I used to be in the bedroom that I shared with my little sister and where one half of it reflected a portion of myself, a portion that I wasn't shy about. It's interesting to go back to it and to see my remnants, and to crave the part of me that gets to fully live. Because at the end of the day, it doesn't have complete space in my childhood home.
As much as I wish it did, it's not for there. It's for the next place I'm going to.
And talk about home. I mean, I'm leaving LA because the city itself does not feel like home to me. It doesn't feel like it can nurture the next chapter of my life, which is a very creative one. I've never been so eager to make things. And so, I need to be in a city that not only nurtures my curiosity with making things, but also leaves room for me to play in it.
And New York is a specific kind of beast. There is a lot of play and there is a lot of hustle and there is a lot of everything else. But God, is it colorful. And that is what I'm raised in.
I'm raised in colors.
I'm raised in eccentricity.
I'm raised in adventure.
I'm raised in culture.
And LA has like remnants of it. Some of which I haven't even gotten the chance to fully explore. But I need curiosity to do that. And unfortunately, I'm just not curious about Los Angeles. Not in the way that I need to be. And so, home will change and it will shift and it will reflect what you need and what you are. And so that is why environment is necessary.
It is necessary. It's particular.
And so, yeah, I'm leaving. I'm leaving this beautiful space that I made to go make another one. Because living at home is also temporary. It's not going to be my entire world. It's only for right now.It's only so that I get a little better footing for this next thing.
And I'm thankful because the world that we are living in right now is exceptionally unpredictable. But I'm happy to be with my family in lieu of all that craziness. But it's temporary. I've never gotten to do New York the way that I've wanted to. So this is what this chapter is. It's being able to do home the way that I want to.
And I'm nervous and I'm excited. And I'm all the things. But at the end of the day, I have eight days to get this place cleared out. And it's bittersweet.
I'm going to miss my sanctuary.
I'm going to miss this sanctuary.
I'm excited to create the next one. But for right now, for the next eight days, I'm going to be mourning.
I hope you guys are having a wonderful start to the new year. I know it's been ghetto, I know it's been ghetto, but I hope that in some way, shape, or form, there is a waking up that is happening. There is a pulling back of the curtains to let some sunlight in, and you smell some food on the stove that someone is making for you.
I hope there is a coziness that you are residing in.
Thank you for listening.
Thank you for watching.
Till next time.
Love,
Cyn
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