MOVING ON WHEN YOU’RE THE LAST TO KNOW

Plans for moving on depend on timing:

Don’t go too soon, or wait too long.

If you’ve picked up and changed locations by yourself, you know the drill.

Sometimes it works out better than expected.

Then there’s this:

Somehow I scored an apartment upgrade after my small studio rent jumped from $155 to $240 with no changes except someone else bought the building.

I went from studio living to a one bedroom down the block on the same street. And paid $150/mo.

The Lee Apartments is still on the corner of NW 20th and Lovejoy, unchanged from the 80’s.

It looked like a dump then and still does. But it was a dump with a certain charm, like the interior courtyard you can’t see from the street.

The charm amped up on nights the piano player across the courtyard had his piano parties.

He was a guy who loved to party and didn’t care who knew, like neighbors who had an early wake-up.

My place was next to an apartment shared by two guys

They were a couple of good guys living together. One of my pals stopped by one day and met them.

Afterwards he asked if they were gay.

I said they were good neighbors, which is at the top of my list of desirable characteristics in apartment life.

At the time I was taking night classes at Portland State and wrapping up a U.S. history degree with an emphasis on Northwest history and a minor in Latin American history.

One class was held across the hall from a big room full of singers. During a break I took a listen. It was all men and they could sing it, let me tell you.

The singers took a break just before my class started again and I saw one of the neighbor guys in the hall.

“That sounded great in there. Are you one for the singers?”

“Yes. It’s rehearsal for the Portland Gay Men’s Chorus.”

“Let me know about the next show and I’ll get tickets.”

Moving On To Start Over

Single people have an easier time moving. Why? Because they get to make all of the decisions.

Whether my neighbors were a couple or not, when they decided to move apart from one another, the roommate neighbor not in the chorus told me.

I was sad to think I’d lose my good neighbors and get stuck with whoever showed up next.

The move he planned was to travel light. Toward that end he gifted me his VCR and a bunch of cassettes.

Back in those days that was one heck of a gift, so I said no, keep it.

“I’ve seen all the movies and I don’t plan on re-watching them or buying new ones, so please, take this and enjoy it.”

So I did, with reluctance. And happiness. I had a free VCR? Woohoo from the heart.

When moving day came, he was the only one moving on.

A couple of weeks later the singer told me what happened.

The Biggest Move

The roommate had moved into a motel, rented a garage, and bought an old car.

He parked the car in the garage, left the motor running, and shut the door.

The next time it opened, the car was out of gas with the old neighbor dead in the driver’s seat.

“Did you have any idea?” I asked.

“We were both sad about breaking up, but I had no idea he’d go that far.”

“He gave me a VCR.”

“Yeah, that’s normal. Every few years he got rid of everything, gave it away or Goodwilled it. He said it kept him from keeping too much stuff he didn’t want or use.”

“How are you doing?”

“I’m in shock. I keep wondering if I could have done more.”

Leave A Light On

My take-away?

People struggle with things that feel like too much on any given day.

Oh, you say, I don’t anyone like that.

I say yes, you do. You just don’t know it.

Like so much going on below the surface of what passes for normal life, some folks find it impossible to carry on.

Then they get help from family, or friends, or professionals. Or all three.

One of my outs in my single days was taking the bus, sitting next to someone who left enough room to sit, and treat it like a therapy session.

I can’t say it was great for the person next to me, but I sure felt better when I got off the bus.

If talking things out is good, does it matter who listens?

It’s like the writing advice I picked up about the first draft of anything. If you’re writing something important enough to put into print, you have permission to suck, to write a bad first draft.

After that’s done, the real writing starts, with the end goal to get it right.

I’ve noticed, and maybe you have too, that life doesn’t work like writing. Our first draft is our final draft.

Do you turn the pages too fast and close the book and think about moving on?

Take that bus ride and talk it out to a stranger, first. You can depend on the kindness of strangers on a bus.