My roommate and I have chosen the lucky gal to be our new roommate. Getting people in and out of the apartment was somewhat like speed dating, as our buzzer rang many times with potentials still in the apartment. There were many moments of awkwardness as it was clear we overbooked time slots. Ah well. Finally, we are done with that process.
There’s something delightful in the randomness that is craigslist. You never know whether sane or crazy is about to enter. There’s that overwhelming feeling you had playing hide and seek as a child, when you were about to be found. You hear the footsteps, you hear the knock, you open the door, and there you have it. It’s either single white female crazy, or a potential new BFF. Anyone in the middle of the spectrum is just boring.
As a new person moves into this apartment, I found myself wondering if I’ll still be living here a year from now. I think so, but who knows? One of my most favorite people in the world is moving away from the city. We went to dinner last night and I expressed how I’d like to run away for a few months and travel. Her response: “Do it! I read about a woman who sold everything she had, traveled, and paid for room and board wherever she went by doing things like washing the dishes in the kitchen. I could SO see you washing dishes in exchange for a room.” It’s true. I could totally wash some dishes.
There’s something courageous in my friends decision to up and leave the city. She’s making bank, has a killer apartment, and has lived her for 7 years. She has NO idea what she’s going to do next, but she knows it’s time to leave this city. Everyone keeps telling her it’s a bad decision, but she’s confident with her choice and trusting her impulse. I envy that ability to pick up and go, without a plan. Perhaps it’s a signpost for me? I’m going to make it one since this is my blog. A sign to have confidence within the unknown.
Yesterday, as I sorted through the library of my colonic lady for 20 dollars an hour (I’ll give you a moment to process all that), I stumbled upon a book titled “A New Book of Days,” by Eleanor Farjeon. It was written in like the 1940s. In the introduction she says, “…A rhyme, a tradition, an oddity may be a finger-post to a little unsuspected journey off the beaten track.” I’m going to stay open to all oddities. Perhaps I’ll be the person looking for a roommate next year, or looking to wash dishes somewhere in exchange for a room. But I’m looking for finger-posts everywhere, clutching my teddy bear, and longingly staring into my passport wishing for a new stamp.
There’s always an adventure ahead when you let go of knowing what’s next.