I recently moved into a new place with a good friend of mine, C. We moved into a lovely old brick terraced house in Fitzroy, aka The Dream Suburb.
During the house hunting process (*shudder*) we looked at a few places. Although each place seemed more exciting than the last, I expended a lot of energy on searching for signs that after moving to the new place I would Be Okay (the people closest to me will know my last move was a bit of a disaster). We used yellow paper (for good luck) for covering letters to each of our prospective landlords. We were organised and neatly filled out our applications before we went to each inspection. We had folders and plastic sleeves containing copies of all our documents. I was pumped, and determined to find The Right Place. I paid attention to The Signs, I checked-in with my body, I watched out for omens, and I searched through my thoughts.
We had 2 inspections to go to. The first, on Greeves Street, looked divine in the pictures but was on the expensive side. It had been raining earlier and so we were the only ones at the inspection. Was that the omen? Nope, the place was teeny-tiny and by the time we left I was feeling anxious.
The second, on Napier Street, from the pictures looked scruffy or something ('rambly', we had dubbed it) but was on the cheaper side. We weren't that excited about it and almost didn't bother, except that it was right after the first inspection and only 50 metres around the corner. It was drizzly as we waited across the street on a park bench. A rainbow came out - a full one, the type that go right across the sky. The end of the rainbow was behind the Napier Street house. I got a little bit excited. Maybe this is the sign...but then I packed in the whole notion of looking for omens.
When walked into the Napier Street place all rational thought flew out the window. We didn't check for power points, or inside the drawers. We didn't look to see what sort of showerhead there was, or see whether
there was enough storage.
We didn't have a yellow covering letter and we hadn't even filled out an application. We did a quick lap of the place, getting more and more excited at the perfectness of it all. It wasn't particularly grand, or funky. But it was lovely, and it felt like home. We didn't have all our documents with us, nor a tidily filled out application, but we handed in what we did have, babbling out promises to look after the place with solemn grins on our faces (well, it was mostly me doing the babbling).
The next morning there was a message on my message-bank. It was a pocket call C had made to my work number after the second inspection. You could hear us in the background chatting excitedly about the
Napier Street house, and there weren't many nice things said about that teeny-tiny place on Greeves.
It was the sign I had been waiting for. And in a round-a-bout way it came from me. Hearing myself talking about the rambly Napier Street house was enough to give me confidence we were doing the right thing.
And then of course, The Necessary Sign, our application was approved.
The move was extremely stressful, as all moves are. But once we were in, we were in love, and all the people holding their breath until it was fairly evident I was Okay could exhale and sigh with relief. (Although slightly mortifying, it is very nice having people look out for you.)
Though I loved my apartment dearly, and it was hard to say goodbye (see previous post) it has been just wonderful moving forward and into such a lovely house.
This one's for you, C.