House Hunters Existential

moving homes unpacking hearts

Before we get into it, today the Guide to Self is back!
It’s been a minute since I’ve had this in stock. I’ve been working with a new printer and I’m so happy with the guide’s 2022 look.

i’m obsessed lol

I wrote Guide to Self with the intention of creating a framework that engages the imagination, making space for you to explore meditation on your own. The guide offers personal insight, 11 practices, each one with an audio companion, for those who want that entry point.

Get a copy here If you already have one, tell your friends!
Thank you for the support, now onto the dispatch :)

I’ve been putting out little signals, asking more questions and following the whispered inclinations. It’s one of those times that magic feels palpable and I want to collect it like rainwater, bathe in it and pour it into the seeds that lay beneath the soil. 

One of the new seeds just sprouted. Yesterday we signed a lease, got some boxes and began sorting through those drawers that hold every paper you can’t find a place for. Everything happened super fast, how I’d imagine ice skating would feel if I was any good at the sport. 

Last week, our landlord raised the rent which sent me into a flurry of late night online apartment searches while questioning what exactly we wanted from life in LA. I love where we live, but a few things bothered me about the place, the biggest being a lack of sunlight. As a sleepy person, I rely on morning light to jump on my eyelids and show me no mercy until I bow to the reality of a new day. 

Recently I’ve been extending a hand towards the unknown, framing each moment as a conversation with source. It’s offered me a new softness in my perception, making it way easier to receive whatever comes with grace. From my end of this divine dialogue, I’m talking shifts and expansion. 

Deciding to move because of fairly trivial annoyances didn’t feel right. This rent raise was the clearest articulation I could ask for. Suddenly I wasn’t instigating a move out of nowhere, we were ushered into a new era. 

We expected the housing search to take a while—finding our current place took 3 months of heavy time investment.

I wasn’t daunted, I was energized. I started looking at places in person, crossing town to see a loft that was a dream office, but too small to fit a bed. A few more apartments were considered until we found a picturesque place nestled in the overlap of Silverlake and Los Feliz. It was a 1920s building with incredible windows, a breakfast nook I could work in and generally a lot of space. Chris and I began calling it The Little Prince (not sure why). It had dollhouse energy, except it was a sprawling second story unit, with the landlord above us and the landlord’s parents below us. A portion of the parking area had been carved out for a small communal outdoor space, which wasn’t a deal breaker, but I wondered where to put my outside plants. 

The biggest red flag was the carpet. The stunning living room was covered in a grey carpet, while the rest of the house had beautiful hardwood and soft orange tile. We found this perplexing, but tried to work around it. I imagined covering the carpet with canvas (done it before) or getting someone to fabricate floors to cover the carpet (probably impossible). I can’t explain it, but the entire vibe was impacted by the out of place carpet. 

But the windows! The dollhouse! The breakfast nook! I shrugged it all off, romanticizing it as a New York place with some quirks. 

I went to see The Little Prince twice. The first time I charmed the landlord, the second time I brought Chris along for a quick ooh ahh tour. Both times I left feeling unsure and unsure about why I felt unsure. 

Chris was in a similar headspace. Back at home, we sat on the couch and talked for a long time, sifting through the reasons why we weren’t head over heels. 

It’s funny what the possibility of change brings out in us. Moving from one good place to a better place is a first for me. Perhaps I was feeling lukewarm about such a beautiful space because I didn’t think I deserved it? Is this self awareness or self gaslighting? Or did I genuinely believe we could find a better fit? 

Next to me, Chris was staring into the eyes of his scarcity mindset, which gets highly developed when you work in the film industry. His impulse to take The Little Prince was born from a lack of belief in a good alternative. What else could be out there, if we turn down a place as perfect seeming as this one?

I’ve talked about the concept of almosts, where the thing in front of you is very, very close but not quite right. An almost doesn’t have to be met with frustration, it can actually be an exciting sign that things are moving in the right direction. The framework is there, we just need to refine the vision.  

As Chris and I talked things out, it struck me that The Little Prince was an almost. It was a parallel universe, a simulation of a certain life path. A New York-type building with enough room for a baby, that we would inevitably fill with more stuff. Of course you can have big spaces and big furniture things, but we’d feel tied to a rental in a city that I would like to eventually leave.

We wanted a space with flexibility, one that made room for nature. One where I wouldn’t always be thinking about making noise that would leak through the walls, the ceilings, the floors, because I am constantly thinking about everyone else’s needs before my own anyway. We wanted to be walking distance to at least one cafe, because my damn car keeps breaking and I’m less excited about automobiles these days.

We didn’t even apply to The Little Prince. It was a leap of faith, both of us jumping from different cliffs to meet in the same liminal space of trust. We said no, with the intention of making space for yes.

A day went by. I feverishly scanned rental websites late into the night and blearily checked first thing in the morning for new listings. I made a joke that I was a home hawk, circling the virtual sky, searching for our new place. Another day went by. I kept the vision in mind, trusting the jump. 

Then a little tiny house icon showed up on the map. I clicked on it and flipped through the photos, barely taking a breath before requesting a tour. 

We saw it the next day and filled out the application that evening.

It took about 36 hours to hear from them, which is basically a decade in LA rental time.  Chris got the call while we were working at the neighborhood cafe. I was deep in laptop mode and decided I needed to take a walk before making a decision. We traced a path around the block, as we tried to find a reason not to take the place. My only hang up was whether or not our couch would work in the new living room, which I quickly admitted was no reason to reject an entire home. There are famously many different couches in the world. 

We stopped at a street corner and I stared up into the sky, catching a hawk circling right above the nearby intersection. My whole life, I’ve taken hawks as a good omen. Dazed, heart racing, I pointed at the hawk. Chris reminded me of my home hawk joke, which I’d already forgotten it in the blur of, well, home hawking. 

We stared as the real life hawk flew towards Atwater, the neighborhood of the new place. 

The divine cleared its omnipresent throat. 

So we signed a lease for a little bungalow, walking distance to two big streets but out of the mix of the weekend farmers market. There’s a garden. There’s a laundry room that I can use for a mini office. It feels like an expansion in the best direction. It feels like a renewal of commitment to the pursuit and service of creativity, instead of whatever we think we’re supposed to want. 

We get the keys tonight. We’re leaning forward into a time of transformation. Every morning I send a chat bubble out to the universe, continuing the conversation. We’re packing stuff and embracing the change that will inevitably come. 

xx
James 

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