The week before last, Dennis went back to NYC to ready our Washington Heights apartment for selling. It was bittersweet, much more for him than for me given he’d completely remade/remodeled the thing from studs on out almost twenty years ago. For me, the moment carried a parcel of emotional weight in a lighter form. More of a size that fits in a side pocket of my heart (albeit a deep Levi’s 501–style rather than the shallow sort) as opposed to the all-consuming backpack of emotion Dennis was very clearly carrying. Some of this was because of distance. I was here in Cali while he was in the apartment, nose pressed against the details of disappearing some of the specific details he’d crafted in order to turn the place into a blank canvas (read sellable) space. But also, this apartment was his baby and one that I’d stepped into a full decade after he’d lived a lot of life inside it.

Apartment 3D. I showed up there for the first time when, early-ish into our relationship, D offered to cook dinner. I don’t remember if I brought anything. Maybe a bottle of something. I do remember walking through the door and being completely smitten by the amount of detail and craftsmanship that he’d put into every nook, every cranny, every crevice and corner. I was already smitten with feelings for the person who lived there but this entry into where he lived took it to another level. It’s often said that your surroundings reflect your soul or maybe just what you’re most interested in. Sure one person’s extremely tall stack of books may be a totem of pride for whoever built it while for someone else that stack may represent a dangerous teetering pile of Why?! But beyond the specifics, I do think that how someone arranges, or even avoids arranging, their surroundings reflects something of the person’s inner workings. That my ex-husband’s studio apartment was basically devoid of floorspace because it was covered with stuff spoke (in retrospect) to the goodly dose of chaos in his life. There were a lot of interesting things mixed up in those piles but it took a huge amount of digging to find them.

Stepping into apartment 3D was mind-boggling on a purely how-did-he-do-this? level. Some people may (&do) ask me, How does it even work to write a story out of whole-cloth, thin air? I can’t explain it and if I tried it would without doubt bore a person to glassy-eyed death. Walking around 3D though, I wasn’t bored hearing about beveling and planing and the hand-grooving of cherry-wood cabinets. I mean, I didn’t understand any of it, but whatever. The amount of passion in D’s voice explained it completely. Then I walked into the bathroom. And that was it. For those who don’t know me well, I’m a water person. Vessels filled with (sometimes too) hot water are my magic place. Throw in some eucalyptus or lavender and bubbles and I’ll likely stay there forever. When I stepped through the door into the 3D bathroom I remember distinctly thinking, Well, that’s it. I’ll have to move in. Most especially into this particular room.

I did move in and wrapped the beauty of the place around me. 3D. Haven Avenue. On a couple of levels, the nouns making up this address held true. Not just three dimensions dealt with but a good amount of them. The haven of it. Away from hectic New York City, yes, but also a shelter that served as a portal into a real true relationship. I learned and found how to listen, trust, feel flaws, not be embarrassed by them, talk about things that heretofore I would have been afraid to discuss (&would have been convinced would have turned one or the other of us out of the apartment), and ultimately began to relax in the presence of another person, which meant I was relaxing into myself. Learned to actually understand love. I wrote a book there. I started another. Began a meditation practice. Started listening better, or at least deeper. Began to look into the headlights of some true troubles I’d lived with financially and emotionally and not be paralyzed. To step around to the driver’s side and take the wheel, then use the lights rather than be frozen in them.

That in 2020, almost ten years to the day after I moved in, we packed up much of the place, found a wonderful tenant, and drove cross-country to spend time with my dad in California was an introduction to What-If. Who knows. Let’s just see. (For more on that, there’s this.)

I understand intellectually about change. I have a tattoo on my right inner wrist that translates (roughly) to that very word. I try hard to be OK with change. Sometimes I’m really just pretending. I’ve certainly done a lot of it: the change part and the pretending bit. And right here, right now, I’m acutely aware of not knowing what’s next both physically and psychically. Sure, I know that in a couple of hours we’re picking up my dad to go see his art in the Redlands art show (for all you locals, his collage will be featured in the show until March 15. Here are details.). I know that in some amount of weeks I’m going on a weekend away. I know some things in the immediate and really have no idea as well. I’m not sure why I’m more struck now by that sense of no-idea in a more intense way than I was back in the day when I walked out of my job at SPIN and just trusted something else would come my way. Sure, I was scared sh*&tless about where my next money source was coming from, but it did come. And in some ways, I remember thinking of it as an adventure. There are traces of that adventure-sensation still but also a deep awareness that there’s a lot to pass through to get to the next. Some of that is based on real estate stuff: selling in NYC is a gnarly trouble-beast 98% of the time. But also the awareness of what’s next with my dad: not having a clue what that will look or feel like.

There are times lately when I’ll walk through a room, see the sun slanting in a certain way; a bird will chirp; a butterfly will lift off a plant outside the window; the cats will be cute, leap off the ground with all four feet while chasing something/each other; D and I will be sitting somewhere just being, and I’ll think, Remember this. Right now: Moments of remember-this are a trail stretching from a 3D haven where someday (soon?) another set of remember-this-ness will take shape with another cast of characters while I’ll be stepping into all the things that come next.