...a room of one's own...
The time has come for me to purge and pack, to say goodbye and find another place called home. Like Woolf, I am searching for a room of my own.
The roommate life was wonderful, both on the soul and the budget. Since August, I have shared a rowhouse with three other graduate students, who were all Returned Peace Corps Volunteers. We were kindred spirits. Although randomly thrown together, we formed a bond and provided each other with support and advice, home-cooked meals and Scrabble matches. Life mirrored episodes from Cheers, Friends, Seinfeld, and, even, Golden Girls. It was uplifting, enlightening, and entertaining. Just reminiscing over our time together invokes the song “Thank You For Being a Friend”. I was very fortunate, especially at $375 a month.
My plans for the future require that I leave my dark room in the basement two blocks from campus. I have so much more of Baltimore to see, so much more to accomplish. I need space and light, a feeling of infinity and invincibility, a fortress, perhaps, of solitude. I need a place that can do more than just house me, but nurture and ground my ideas and creativity. This is normally not advertised in the apartment postings on Craigslist. However, it certainly was there when I viewed the apartment, definitely, in a sense, welcoming me home. I have chosen a one-bedroom apartment in Reservoir Hill rather than in the trendier Mount Vernon or Charles Village. I concluded that a greater refugee, inspiration, and rejuvenation lied in Druid Hills Park than in Starbucks. That, indeed, was priceless.
So when my second semester ends, I will load up my car and drive to another address called home, a scenario repeated numerous times in my nomadic life. However, I know no matter where I go home is always, always in the land and the love, in the sea and the sand.
Of course, you know what the card attached would say… However, if you need help finding your way, your home here in Baltimore, then just email.
…together in the struggle…
…until next write…
