In March, I set up about 8 different apartment alerts. Every day I’d get emails about different listings in neighborhoods I was interested in. I obsessed over that until July.
In July, I started scheduling viewings. Once I found my place I harassed the property manager until he approved me.
August was about the logistics of the move. I packed boxes. Looked for movers, house cleaning services, paint colors, all the things I’d need to get settled.
September: I'm living out of boxes and already planning out the next big thing. I’ve been thinking about this move, decorating, living alone for months now.
And, now, it’s here and I’ve already moved on. My mind is on to the future, while the rest of me stays behind, here, on auto-pilot.
There’s a part of me that’s addicted to planning. It’s my security blanket. Yet, somehow, a process designed to make living easier turned into one that keeps me from living at all.
Read: Control Means Letting Go
In this Vogue interview Oprah made an offhand comment about how she’s finally learned how to be present. Perhaps it wasn’t that offhand (it made it to the article), but it really struck a nerve.
When am I going to show up and just be here?
Here referring to my life, my journey, my experiences, whatever necessitates my attention.
Time is something you’ll never get back. I’ve been waiting for two years for the means to live on my own; I can’t really say that I’ve celebrated the magnitude of actualizing something that took 730 days. 730 days chasing something. 0 days relishing in it.
There's something so sanitizing to being as logistical as I am. It means never really having to feel the full brunt of what's going on around you because you're only worried about keeping the wheels moving. Sometimes in church, I wonder if the people running the sound or the lights still feel God in the same way.
I'm the sound and lighting man man in my own life. Here to witness, but silently preoccupied. I think it’s time I learned how to just sit and be here. Wherever here is.