The apartment search isn't going anywhere — I can't quite take the leap from the Internet to the field. But I've turned one corner: The thought of giving up my comfy home in order to leave Rob for a trial separation no longer scares me half to death.

That fear had me stuck between staying and leaving. But then I acknowledged the significance of the loss of my beloved abode, and it made all the difference. (Thanks here are owed to my therapist.)

I've taken to wandering through my lovely space, lingering over photos and admiring each item I've collected, from vases to furniture: I found this chair in a yard sale and refinished it; I inherited this curio from my grandmother. I invite the memories they evoke, I acknowledge my sadness, and little by little, I let go my attachment to my possessions.

As I was reminded by a good friend who lost her childhood keepsakes to fire last year, things can be replaced; lives can't. So it comes to this: I've got this one life only. I can't let a nicely furnished apartment keep me from exploring possibilities for a happier future.