This transitional period of time, between apartments. Where you’re living out of a bag of clothing, all of your stuff packed away, curtains stripped from the windows, movers scheduled for Sunday. It feels like you’re living in a home that is no longer yours. You’re an illegal squatter. An odd, odd limbo.
Why does moving feel so chaotic? An overwhelming feeling of displacement. Uprooting a life that you’ve carefully cultivated for a year (how did I accumulate so much STUFF), deciding how to pack away the dishes, not buying any new groceries because moving them from apartment to apartment seems like a way bigger deal than it actually is. 6 days until the brand new space is mine. 6 days until all of this chaos is put to rest, mostly. Then it’s the unpacking fiasco, and the re-arranging of furniture to make it look just so, as Pinterest-y as possible. How will I decorate? Should I keep the cheap looking paintings that I bought to adorn the boring walls of my last apartment, or scrap them and make way for something more me? Something simple, poignant, maybe put up that weird art I bought at the music festival last year, the prints that have been collecting dust since August.
I’m constantly reveling in this newness, this change. Winter transitioning to reluctant spring to insistent summer. A pivotal point in my current job, the Year Mark, that moment of truth. A new apartment, near the lake, where the blues will become commonplace and the city is a few easy train stops away – a space where I could (hopefully) be happy to host friends. A new relationship, with a man who makes my heart feel full and my mind feel unbelievably grateful.
I hope he is what I think he is: kind, smart, loyal, caring, compassionate. Those ocean blue eyes. I thought other eyes were like oceans, but his… that color of ocean water as it moves from the shallows to deep. The eyes that crinkle when he smiles at me. The kindness in his voice when he assures me that he isn’t going anywhere. I hope he doesn’t. I know that sometimes things go wrong, or things don’t work out. But this one… I hope they do. He makes me want to be a kinder, more patient person. But this isn’t a piece about him.
Transitions tend to happen all at once – maybe one big change subtly/subconsciously inspires another, snowballing into some more chaos. What’s another word for chaos? Thesaurus.com says: disarray, discord, disorder. Lots of “dis” words… maybe there’s a positive word for chaos, too. Bedlam! Hubbub. It’s good to laugh, even amongst this weird storm. Even when friends turn out to be not who they say they are (why does this keep happening?). What am I doing wrong, that I trust people and misjudge them so? But also! Who the fuck cares!
I am vibrant! I am healthy! I am beautiful!
And, this time, I believe myself.