I moved. I didn’t move into an apartment or a loft or a studio apartment. My roommate moved back home, and I moved with her.
I’m facing my twenty-sixth birthday in two and a half weeks. I graduated college cum lade with honors. I am very high up in my workplace as far as titles go. I work really hard to pay my bills. Starting in December, I’ll even be paying my own health insurance. Still, no matter how hard I work, and I swear I am working so hard it’s suffocating, I’m moving in with parents. Not my parents, but that’s a very small detail when explaining to others about me recent move.
I’d be lying if it isn’t slightly embarrassing. It’s hard not to fee that way when every time I tell someone about it they grew silent with sympathy. Not even judgement, just sad sympathy for me and my life. Thanks. I feel so great about myself. It’s not like I don’t realize that my life doesn’t exactly model society’s definition of success.
But here’s the thing, part of me wants to respond, “Fuck you,” to everyone who tries to give me shit about this move. Did you know that rent in the Ann Arbor area is easily over $600? Did you know that my student loans take up almost a third of my paycheck? It’s not like I’ve been remotely lazy in the past two years while trying to provide for myself. And I’m doing a good job. I’m making things works.
I. Am. Blessed.
Chelsea’s parents didn’t have to let me rent a room in their house. They ESPECIALLY didn’t have to charge me as low of rent as they are. I also have a really good job that I can now stay at because I have a place to work. I don’t need to quit my job to move back home and find work in Richmond (probably at Meijer again).
Also, Chelsea’s family is really nice. All of them are wonderful people. Contrary to popular belief, I can pull my shit together and share space with other human beings. I’m not a monster. I’m also not incapable of interacting with humans. I have managed to survive rather normally for most of my life. It doesn’t look like yours or someone else’s maybe, but I do just fine, thank you very much.
And you know what? I’m super excited to live with the Wards. They speak German. They bake. They’re sassy in a fun way. They are different from my family in that way where I get to earn about how other people live and grow as a person because I’ll be able to understand that people are different from me but that’s okay because they can still be loving and wonderful and cool.
I love watching other people exist. Ask my mom and sisters. As a kid, I’d watch them put on makeup, to the point of annoying them. I got to witness them put themselves together, design how the world would see them that day. It’s fascinating. People living their lives is interesting. Why do they do what they do? Why do they grab the jam knife with their left hand even though their right handed? How do they make their coffee? What do they put on their sandwiches? It’s these little things that make up a human being and who they are. I love to store these up and filter them into characters and stories. It helps me visualize scenes from books I’m reading. Sometimes it just explains life to me. Other times I’m just interested or curious because I spend my whole life trying to figure out what life’s about and maybe it’s how much butter a person puts on their toast or whether they grab their purse or their keys first.
Maybe we get distracted by this checklist that’s forced on us from a young age. You have to leave school, get married, and have kids. You’re not an adult if you don’t own your own home, mow your lawn, or buy stocks. Instead, what we really should be focusing on are the small moments of truth, letting life happen rather than making it happen.
God blessed me with people who care about me even though we aren’t blood related.
God’s very clearly provided for me. Case and point: I didn’t move into a box on the side of the road.
Being blessed looks different for different people.
Life can’t be an adventure if you don’t let it, right?