Last week I moved.
I remember back in June of 2011, I wrote a post on learning that my landlady was thinking about taking my apartment back. I knew I was going to lose my lovely spot beneath the willow tree. But I also knew that my home was not an apartment or a place, it was a space inside of me. A solid place of calm and wisdom that I had been cultivating over many years.
That said, it was still a traumatic experience losing my apartment. And the move has been difficult too. I procrastinated the packing and the decluttering, so it went on days beyond what it should have. I'm still only half unpacked.
But I'm in a new home. And there are many things I like about my new place. It's very bright, and for the first time I have a really open and inviting workspace. It's urban, which suits my style. And visually it's very private. In the mornings I have a balcony on which to stand that faces a brick wall. The morning sun rises above it. I can look out onto a tree lined street. And passers by, if they looked up would see me. But no one is in a position to stare at me doing this strange, still meditation that is still so unusual in our culture. So I feel less self conscious. I am outside now.
As the morning unfolds though, it does get a little noisy. It's on a big busy street, and many of the tenants are young guys in their thirties. So there is music sometimes, and pot smoking on the balcony. But it's not party central. Just guys dealing with the stresses of finding their way.
And I'm learning that moderate noise can be kind of stimulating. I've discovered some background noise apps that I'm experimenting with. It's a matter of feeling connected to the busy world again. I feel like I did back in the 90s, when I was living in The Plateau with all my hipster friends. I'm starting over.
Regardless of where I live, however, I have another home. This blog. Here I have a record of peace and comfort that is a harbour during whatever storm I'm likely to face in my life. Here I generate calm and confidence, always available to me.
This blog is my ground. This blog is my tree.
