When I was 16, I moved out of my parents house. My first roommate didn't stay, so I think a nine-weeks into the semester, I moved to a different dorm room and with a different roommate. My senior year of high school, I had my own room (<3) for the whole year.
When I went to college, I moved in with a girl from high school. A bigger dorm room opened up at semester, so we moved in with another girl we knew from high school to make a triple. I am pretty sure I worked a summer tutoring gig that required me to move in to a different college dorm for 6 weeks. I transferred to the same college campus, and my roommate again left a few weeks in. So, I had a single for a semester, but had to get a roommate at semester. So, my 2nd semester of sophomore year, I moved again. That summer, I moved out, then back to campus for another round of summer tutoring. My junior and senior year, I kept consistent dorm and house-mates-a near miracle.
After spending four months largely trapped in my house, I've started nesting....sort of. The flowers are growing, the tomatoes are happy, and there is exactly one painting hung on the wall. One window has curtains. I've found some solace in cleaning and sorting, organizing and donating. It's something I can control in the face of more and more death in this country's pandemic disaster (over 124,000) and the uncertainty of teaching life in the fall.
Trusting that this is a space worth investing in, that a space that only me and the dog enjoy is worth investing love, money, and effort in, is a challenge to my deepest fears and insecurities. It means something to hold the truths equally important- this is a real moment in time that is worth enjoying for the here and now while also acknowledging that life guarantees nothing- no control, no tomorrow, no health or wealth.
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