The most perfect house
In the weeks before I left San Francisco, I had this wonderful and wonderfully new sensation of something bubling up inside me, coupled with the knowing that I would only know it when I got quiet and still.
Now that I have found a home, I am getting quiet and still and shedding distractions. And while Mexico City might seem like the worst choice for quiet and still, it is full of museums and cafes and trees and parks. I think that this city has everything for anyone. My visa came through and I turned my focus to house hunting. I’d imagined myself in some wonderful little studio or one bedroom apartment in Roma, someplace central and packed with people and things to do. During my second week-long sublet, I stayed with another woman and remembered how much fun it can be to live with other people so I changed my search and started looking for rooms to rent. I saw the city in the four days that I was looking for a place and ended up picking the one that I was most excited about — a tiny room, hardly larger than my twin bed, in a house with eleven other people, in a colonia far from the center. I took it, even though it was nothing that I wanted, because, when I first saw the online ad, my immediate reaction to it was, “I can work here.” Not that I could physically sit down and get the work done but that this is a place that I can dive deep into the work that I have to do.
I moved in, with many trepiditions that have mostly melted away. My two suitcases of things fit in here with room, the bed is crazy comfortable, the rooftop patio is a dream, it’s clean but really, it’s the people: a bunch of masters and PhD students from Europe and Latin America, every working really hard and creating a sweet community here.
I have a running partner in the woman who lives across the hall from me and we’re doing a pilates-for-Spanish-lessons trade. I’ve also found a climbing gym and yoga studio that I like. For me, staying in motion is how I know myself best and also how I get quiet.
Everything that I need is in place now and this past week, work is roiling up and out of me. Stories and essays that I didn’t even know were waiting for me to get quiet are spilling out of me, my journal shifts and has turned into this highlighted, sticky-note-tabbed mess of thing that is part calendar, part first and second draft of essays and stories and pitch ideas that just pour out as soon as I pick my pen up, and part just getting the shit out that has to come out for the real work to come.