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Skygazing. Because it’s pretty.

July 6th marked exactly one year since I sold my house. The day of the closing, I had just left my only stable source of income and was trying to get used to the idea of being single again for the first time in nearly six years. Immediately after signing the papers, I called a friend, bought a bottle of champagne, and waded into the Susquehanna River with all my clothes on to get drunk and look at the sky.

Yeah.

How everything got to that point is a story all its own (which I know you’re dying to read about when I eventually finish Venus Retrograde), but needless to say, I had no idea what was going to happen next in my life, nor did I have the interest or stamina to figure something out.

A year later, I’ve done a lot of things that wouldn’t have been possible if I’d stayed on track with the life I’d originally thought I’d have. Instead of shacking up in an old renovated Philly house with my long-term boyfriend, planning nuptials or babies or both, I’ve gotten to travel for a total of four of the last twelve months, (including six weeks wandering around Europe – for free!*), learned a new language, started a book, discovered the impacts of lying by omission, laughed, cried, orgasmed (sorry, Mom), made new friends, lost old ones, seen weddings, births, and funerals, and I still don’t have a damn clue about what I’m doing next.

I am happy and I am broke, and I don’t know if that’s progress or pathetic, but at least it’s living. It’s been an interesting year for sure, and though it’s not where I’d thought I’d be, it turns out it was much better than the alternative.

I made the choice a year ago to hold off on making plans for a while, since all the plans I’d set in place for the previous 10 years went up in a fiery shitball of flames. To rush into making more plans not only seemed pointless and exhausting, but a blatant fire hazard.

After a year of floating wherever the open sea of opportunity took me, however, it’s now time to find my ass a paddle and figure out where I’m going next. I don’t know what it is yet, but either my instincts or my wallet is telling me that something new is on the horizon and I need to be ready when it gets here. It would certainly be easier if I knew what the hell I was getting ready for, but I’m still a hippy and fear the wrath of telling the Universe what to do.

I’ll keep you posted on any updates, homies.

*Ok, almost free. For six weeks, including flights to Italy, transportation within Europe, food, tours, lodging, and booze, I had to chip in about $350. Which is nearly free in my book. More on that later.

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