It was a very deep crisis that caused me to move on my own back to my old apartment. The move was marked by rebellion: my rebellion against the situation that caused the move, my rebellion at the notion of having to live alone, my rebellion at having to move, period.
The thing is, this move came as a result of tremendous changes I was making in my life, some by choice, others against my will. What has started out as something positive (me dealing with shit, becoming the person I wanted to be, etc.) ended up costing me damn near everything. I knew what I wanted and needed but was (still am) learning how to make happen, how to find my way and keep myself centered. Still, my personal growth was the kiss of death for my romantic relationship at the time. Isn't it funny, how just when you think you're getting it together, that one important piece of your life falls apart?
And so, at a time when my life was pure chaos, the move felt like the final nail on a weary piece of wood. That one nail that either holds the whole thing together or causes it to fall apart. There was too much happening in my life, on a personal, romantic, financial, and professional level, for me to think that any good could from this move, other than some peace and quiet and space to think. I was plagued with fears, sadness, worries and doubts. As it was, the move itself was sudden. I knew something would be happening, but one minute I was living in one place and over the course of four days my problems spun out of control, I found a mover, packed my shit, and Sunday morning, there I was in my new-old home. It was a fucking whirlwind.
Maybe that's why I never viewed it as a permanent situation. I kept thinking that I would either move back in with my parents, or move into my sister's home, which is large enough to comfortably accommodate one more person; or that I would find a roommate or a cheaper place. When my lease was up, I figured, I would solve this problem.
This last year has really been a comedy of errors. My inability to change a single light bulb on the ceiling because I don't reach, not even with a ladder; my panic over payday falling days after the bills are due and having no money to cover them; my absolute befuddlement with the fresh pepper grinder, which has been sitting empty and unused for months because I was not the one who put fresh pepper in it and have not been able to figure out how to do it yet; my complete ignorance of changing A/C filters, and the mush that was waiting for me when I finally realized that something had to be done to A/C's every now and then to keep them working right. I've got my own sitcom going here.
I've spent a lot of months worrying about my short-term fate and my financial situation. I kept praying to God to help me see things clearly, to help me be wise. Every choice seemed to have very valid pros and cons (I did a lot of lists!). And in the end, my gut was telling me that I could do this, I could live on my own, make ends meet and learn to be more responsible, take care of myself and my Zoë; and my choice was made. To stay. To settle for a while until the next big thing comes my way, and in the meantime, treasure the peace and privacy that my cozy little home offers me. But is it even possible?
I have figured that, all things being equal, any of three big, important things could happen in my life that would make moving out of my apartment necessary. I could buy a house, get married, or move out of state. There is no danger of any of these things happening any time soon, but what if they one day do? In the meantime I must make the best decision possible that will help my sanity and not bankrupt me. But to do one I will have to sacrifice the other.
I am trying to settle even though I feel transient, like nothing is my own.
And I just want something to be my own.