“Moving on up!” The mover said with gusto as he pushed the final stack of boxes off the steel hand truck, wheeling its wide rubber wheels back towards the door.
He paused for a moment to turn back towards the apartment, his eyes scanning across the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the San Francisco bay. “One day,” he said, and shook his head. “One day.”
I knotted my fingers together and wrung my hands. I was hoping that it would work out this time. I’ve learned several lessons about moving in with someone, and one of them is – whatever you do, don’t brag about it.
Don’t share the views, the spaciousness, the love – because one day it will all come crashing down and it will be you and the boxes again, and the same movers moving you into a much darker apartment on the other side of town.
I needed something to do with my hands. All they do is type on a keyboard nowadays. I edged my way around the boxes and picked up my boyfriend’s cat – now, also mine – nuzzling my cheek against his soft head. He smells like fresh laundry. Hopefully this time will be different. It’s hard being a human, I want to say to the cat.
I understand what it looks like from the outside. I can tell by the look my single friends give me. It’s a hungry look, a look of wanting to cross over to the other side.
My boyfriend buzzed around the apartment, setting things aside to make room for my stuff. “You know when J moved in with S she brought just a backpack,” he teased me gently.
I shrugged and gave myself something to do by unpacking my keyboard. J was twelve years younger than me. If I was in my twenties I’d also have less baggage.
Here – this is something to do with my hands. I placed my fingers on the keys and moved them silently through a series of chords.
A lot can happen in a year. Last year at this time, I was working as a consultant and struggling to grow the business.
Exactly a year ago, my plan was to go to southeast Asia and live cheaply while getting paid in US dollars.
From there, I’d replenish my savings and eventually make my way back to the states. I moved my hands a bit more around the keyboard.
If I hadn’t met N, I’d likely be there now. Still, I wouldn’t have this keyboard to play on. I wouldn’t have started taking lessons, and I wouldn’t be preparing to play my grandmother’s favorite tune with her in a month.
I looked out over the bay then down at the table where my dog-eared passport patiently sits.
I’ve signed a car lease and commute to Silicon Valley four days a week. I socialize with a lot of people who look like me, think like me. It’s a lot different than living in Bali, where I envisioned myself drinking cold, fresh coconut juice every morning and co-working alongside cool digital nomads from around the world.
Maybe it’s not time yet.
Or maybe, it’s time to build a home. Maybe it’s time to look inward and mend what’s been broken; renovating instead of running away.
Besides, wherever you go, there you are. And here I am.
Still me, always growing, and no worse for the wear.