it was almost a year ago to the day when i first stepped across the threshold and spotted the ugly yellow fridge of the apartment i now call home. nearly a year ago i thought with relief i'm so glad it's not perfect because then i won't possibly fall in love with it and have to make a hard choice. because, as you might recall, i had already committed a signature and $645 to another.
but it was also a year ago that i dared to look closer, dared to notice the length of glass and wood cabinets staring back at that fridge, dared to risk my word signed across a check and application i had handed someone else for another apartment. dare. risk.
risk.
dare.
and i did dare and i did risk. and a year later, they have proved worthy, as most lessons are that start with a toe on the line of fear traced in front of you. it's why i have made it a habit in my life to find places i feel fear and step boldly toward them. because i have known that one day the moment will come when Everything will be on the line and a second's hesitation could cost me that Everything.
i wasn't always this way. i actually know the span of my life that taught me the benefits of living on the very edge of myself. it was the 9 months of the meisner-based acting class i took in 2008/9. this was the class that took my life by the ankles and shook it upside down until all these the parts of myself i didn't want to look had spilled out on the floor for everyone to see. that was the year i discovered the best classes were the ones i was most afraid of – those days i could barely get myself to walk up the flight of stairs and down that long hall into class. those were the days i made the most progress – learned the most about myself. those were the days the teacher had no criticism, just a stoic glance in my direction and a single, rare nod of approval.
so i slowly and begrudgingly became comfortable within the discomfort. it hurt no less, still hurts no less, but now i don't fight it so much and that makes it easier. and though class ended years ago, i find a million little ways to keep this practice present in my daily life. i have my weekly singing lessons because it was literally the last thing i could possibly do. i bought a bowling groupon because i've only been twice in my life and bowling scares the crap out of me and embarrasses me all at the same time {double whammy}. and i have learned how to speak truth into hard relationships when i'd rather ostrich myself in a corner with my head in the sand and pretend everything's okay.
all this so at the right moment i could risk $645 for a crazy apartment with the ugly fridge and shaggy carpet in the bedroom that, despite its imperfections, sang to me in a way i could not ignore, even when i tried my hardest not to hear.
because: the heart knows. it knows how to make sense when everything on paper doesn't add up and the head shouts loudly to go in the opposite direction. it knows when reason and friends and family point elsewhere. and you know what, mine has always been pretty spot. especially this year.
and, in turn, my heart has been rewarded in her choice. i have lived so much and so well in this apartment and it has loved me hard and held me softly in return. we have thrown warm parties, spreading out across its wooden floors, shared quiet evenings with myself and a friend unfolding gently to each other. and i have spent {too many} restless nights awake till dawn beneath its watchful ceiling. rested an aching body and spirit nursed by its solitude and silence.
this space, this collection of wood and white and walls has held my tears, has held my fears when there was no one else. it has elevated my joy, echoed my song, framed my colors for all the world to see and enthusiastically welcomed others to partake in it's life.
so this is for you, my apartment, my valentine, my truest of the trues, dearest of the dears. you have been worth every risk. worth every fear. and you have proved my heart true.
