It snowed in Baltimore yesterday. Not the big, clumsy wet snow we've been getting. But the fine, cold, tiny snow. The pretty snow.
None of it stuck of course. It's been near 60 all week. I sat today in the dell by my apartment for nearly two hours in a sweatshirt. It was beautiful. But it always is in the dell. The walk there was much colder. Either way, the weather in the city has been very strange this winter. All of life has been very strange for me this winter.
I came home to my reasonably sized, reasonably priced apartment in the village. Brought my scruffy, well behaved dog inside, and fed him and my two not so small, not so well behaved cats breakfast. Its strange to me, this life that I've developed. Wake up around 10. Spend an hour or two at the park watching the dog run around with his pack of friends. Get some chores done, usually within walking distance. Have a (hopefully healthy) carry out lunch. Go to work around 6 or 7, or if I have a night off, hit a bar I don't work at. At night I watch SVU, or one of the few other shows I keep up with. I go to sleep alone, rarely with a partner. Lately it's been the bartender. I'm hopeful that some time in the future it will be the photographer. He needs to get through a hard family time first though.
It's strange to me to think that this time a year ago I was at home, in the suburbs, alone, trying to figure out how I could tell my husband of 5 years that I didn't want to be married anymore. That this time two years ago, I was waking at 7 every morning to put on clothes I didn't like, to go to a job I wasn't happy with, to sit behind a desk and waste my life. I feel like I've lead two lives. Or one very full one in reverse.
I'm 27 and for the first time on my own. I've never been alone in a living space. I've never had my own dog. I've never been a dating adult.
I've never been truly my own person.
I'm in love. I'm in love with me. I'm in love with my city. I'm in love with being alive.
I got together with a good friend last week. I hadn't seen her since August. She told me that I looked truly happy. That I seemed refreshed and like I was suddenly where I should be. That this was the life that I was supposed to be living. She said for a moment she didn't recognize me. I wonder if she knew how much that meant.
Everyone has a story. If you get down to the grit of it, it's usually the same as yours. This is mine. I'll share what I can when I can. Maybe you'll read it. Maybe we can all remember how similar we are.
