I’m on the verge of making some life-changing moves and I’m trying my best not to freak out.

Marriage and engagement has never been a taboo topic for us; it’s been something we’ve discussed practically since we started dating (okay, so it was since the second month). We knew we would be marrying each other; that has never been in doubt. He’s been upfront about his desire to be working and able to provide for me before proposing, which has made waiting slightly more bearable since I wasn’t constantly wondering if this moment was THE MOMENT.

I’ve always known that once we figured out where we were going to live and moved together, the engagement would be following soon after and then wedding. If it were completely up to the bf, we would be married within months of getting engaged, but thankfully I was able to negotiate for a little more lead time.

Now that I’m working, our location has been decided for us. So with the bf looking for work and interviewing, it’s really only a matter of time before we’re finally able to make that move. And once that happens, I’ll be faced with not only moving out of the house but also moving into an apartment with the bf, acclimating to being together all the time, getting engaged and preparing for a marriage. Practically all at once.

These life events are pretty daunting by themselves, but even more so when they’re bundled together into a neat little package. And of all the things that could probably make me nervous, it’s the moving into an apartment that is worrying me the most. You guys, this freaks me out because I’m a planner; I like to be prepared for things as best as possible, even if the plan is ultimately to just go with the flow and play it by ear. But this? I haven’t been able to prepare the way I’d like. While the bf and I had been slowly picking smaller items out for our apartment (and my mom’s helped to in the form of gifts), it just doesn’t feel like it’s enough and what I really want to be able to do is go out and get furniture (aside from the pieces I bought for my room with the express purpose of taking with me to our home), but I can’t because it doesn’t make sense if you don’t know where you’ll be living. I don’t even have the money to cover a security deposit (that fund was one of the victims of my unemployment).

So while the bf was talking about moving and stuff, I slowly began to unravel. I became consumed with the thought that we are not prepared enough. We don’t have dishes. We don’t have beds. We don’t chairs. What in the world are we going to sit on?

The bf spent rest of the conversation convincing me that we will be fine. We can easily purchase all the things we needed in a day or two (but ugh, it hurts just thinking about the cost of procuring all those items at once. I wanted to space it out a bit!) and assured me that he would not move me into a house only to have us sleeping on the floor in sleeping bags (which is good because I don’t own a sleeping bag anymore). I know he’s right: everything will work out and we’ll have all the dishes we could possibly need. But sometimes I can’t help but feel like I should be doing something, anything, to prepare.

In the end, I know I need to just relax and let go. Things will work out. We’ll have dishes, beds, chairs and everything else we’ll need. And most importantly, we’ll be together, in our home.

Our home.