I’ve been thinking a lot about what makes a home recently. I don’t mean fancy throw rugs or sticky-fingered children (although I’d be happy with both), but that moment when you suddenly feel at home in a new place. Because I do, now, here in L.A.

One minute, everything in L.A was a mix of novelty and anxiety and fun and stress. The next it was normal and, well, it was home. It’s been five months since we arrived with four suitcases and a shitload of hopes and dreams. And holy hell, it’s been full on. But we’re here, I’ve accumulated way more than I could ever fit into four suitcases and I like it. We have a cat. Two little dogs. Two trees in our living room. And our own vacuum cleaner. I don’t even really notice the American accent much anymore, which really grated at first. (If I start developing one, slap me). I’ve settled into freelancing, and I’ve been lucky to write stuff that I enjoy. I like working from home now (particularly because I don’t have to brush my hair). I’ve even started doing some beauty writing–a secret fantasy I’ve harboured since I helped out a beauty editor at Australian Women’s Weekly when I was 15. In other words, life’s good.

I can’t put my finger on what’s changed, but I know I’m glad it has. Special thanks to our foster fur babies for all the snuggles and conversation starters with strangers in the streets (Michael WISHES he had a miniature dachshund when he was single, such is Sasha’s pulling power).

Lots of love,

Naomi

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