New Catchphrase, New Keys, and a Request

Thirty-two and still no clue.

It's my new catchphrase.

10 years ago, at 22, I had recently purchased a luxury car. I had a job in which I made a good salary with a company that I liked. I had an apartment. I had health insurance and paid vacation and benefits. It felt satisfying for about 6 months and then, suddenly, I wanted out. I wanted to experience as much as possible and that path didn't seem the best option for fulfilling that desire. That's how I ended up in Switzerland.

And on my way to Switzerland I recall how strange it was to grab for my ever-diminishing key ring. Each piece of metal represented something I had worked hard to gain access to and I was voluntarily forfeiting it bit by bit. By the time I was at the airport my key ring was empty and, thus, useless. I threw it in the trash and laughed at myself for wanting there to be something more ceremonious about it.

I'm proud of that girl. I like her. I try to remember this as I begin the transition back to the U.S. (Monday!) I'm excited. I'm terrified. I'm going to have to acquire a lot of keys and I'm not sure where I'll find them; but I've been keyless a few times at this point. It's always turned out fine. It's never not turned out fine.

The plan, in so far as one of those exists, goes like this:
Tame the wilds of San Francisco and make it my ground.

More concretely:
Attempt to launch my home decor business in San Francisco by mid to late Spring.

Even more concretely:
Make enough money to not be homeless. If not in San Francisco, then just somewhere. 

Short term goals include finding temporary places to stay while I'm acquiring some of these keys. So, this is the "request" part. If you live in the Bay Area and are doing any traveling between now and the end of the year and need a housesitter, keep me in mind. If you have an extra couch and you wouldn't mind me sleeping there for 2 or 3 days, let me know. I'm happy to consider possible upholstery services as trade. I'll be wanting to bulk up my portfolio anyway.

As this is likely my last Tiny Letter before I return there's a part of me that wants to make grand proclamations about what I've learned and how I've grown. But instead I'll channel that 22-year-old at the airport trash can laughing at her desire for a funeral for her key ring.

In this moment it seems that every little thing is sacred and we must invent/imagine profanity because it's the only way we can survive.

I'll see you soon San Francisco.