this was the year to unfuck my life, and i suddenly find myself moving into the third and final phase of that plan. we close on the new place today, and i'll be cleaning and moving until Thanksgiving. i won't have internet until the last week of november, but i'll probably run to a nearby town once or twice to check my gmail and peek in here. (i lost a lot of mail and email addresses with my two computer swaps, so please use my gmail address. i dislike gmail, but i can now really see the benefit.)
i moved to the city almost eight years ago. i've always said living here is a little like being held underwater.
don't get me wrong. i love the twin cities and i always thought i would be able to adjust, but it never happened. I've spent years searching for solitude and quiet in order to write, but solitude and quiet doesn't exist here. This place is all about noise and energy.
I thought the condo would simplify my life, but instead it complicated it in a very water torture, mundane sort of way. By early July i was losing my mind and looking for a cabin in northern MN and WI. cold was no longer an issue -- escape was. i'd been looking for an old church or schoolhouse off and on for seven years, but i'd pretty much given up on that idea when i came upon the church listing.
a weird chain of events led to it -- the sale of my house -- which in this market i now realize was in itself amazing, the unsuitable condo situation, stumbling across the church listing completely by chance, a buyer's market, a seller/architect who had hoped an artist of some sort would live in the world he'd created, an absolutely amazing real estate agent i originally didn't want to work with because i was dead set against working with a guy, a mortgage broker who never gave up. So many people working so hard to make something happen. I also think the trip to Sweden reset my brain and got me off autopilot at just the right time.
As writers, I wonder if we sometimes have a harder time figuring out our own lives because we view the world through so many eyes. We know what our characters want, but we don't always know what we want.
We live so many lives that aren't our own, and maybe we live our lives less fully because of that.
so will this final phase unfuck my life? maybe. maybe not.