No Place Like Home

After a thousand trips up and down my new apartment's stairs, I'm finally moved in and mostly unpacked. A few pieces of borrowed furniture and some extremely groovy thrift store lamps later, things are looking ready to be lived in. This has been a tough one for me due to the fact that it's the first time since my first year of marriage that I've lived in a place that has absolutely no elegance or even shabby-chic charm to lend a hand. It's taken all of my decorating X-Men power to transform this 1970's cheap architectural tribute into an environment with a little dignity fueled by self-deprecating humor.

Four months have passed like a blinding flash of sun in the rear-view mirror. A suitcase, Spain, and the hospitality of friends have provided me with everything I needed to spin me around and point me in the direction of the donkey whose tail I expectantly hold aloft. The same amount of certainty those hapless party game participants possess in search of their target guides me in my pursuit of renewed life in Chico. What job will provide me with the income and inspiration I need? Are creative musical co-conspirators waiting in the wings for me to discover? Can my ego survive the downsizing and disappointment I face in the attempt to live within my means both monetarily and emotionally?

These questions are by no means unique I discovered over coffee with a friend on a break from moving mayhem. She too feels lost in between the nostalgia of an irretrievable past and an inconceivable future. "What's the point of settling in here if I don't know I'm going to stay?", she mused in a melancholy expression of doubt. A worthy rhetorical question, isn't it? Why do any of us dare to nail up pictures, get close to a friend or lover, get involved in community if we're bound to move or break up eventually?

As soon as the question is framed, the answer hits me with the simplicity and force that are the hallmarks of truth: quality of life. We do those things because life is short, and we can drift helplessly and hopelessly, or we can have a tea party while the grim reaper sharpens his scythe. That kind of attitude is what puts a secret smile on my face. It's the satisfaction I felt as I followed a creative urge to adorn my kitchen with geometric patterns of Mexican Loteria cards, to bring my guitar to a friend's chemo treatments, to make music out of sadness. So as I build my new life, all be it a house of cards, I’ll light some candles, place each Bicycle with style, and enjoy the structure in it’s precarious elegance as long as it lasts. It’s home for now.