I mentioned briefly looking for apartments; this was one of those early “days off” touring places. I wasn’t thrilled to be up at 6:00 for a 6:25 bus and a 7:10 train into Boston. I wasn’t thrilled about the heat or the MBTA/Uber marathon ahead of me. But I was excited to drift through Lynn and Salem at my own pace.
The trains in New England chug through more beauty than I usually saw on NJ Transit. From Rhode Island to Boston alone, the T brought us through early-waking marinas and vibrant green trees. Even at 7:20 A.M., the sun shone brightly, illuminating weathered crevices in grafitti-tagged architecture. Every ride toward Rockport brought me through Massachusetts’s natural beauty. Finding awe around me eased the weight my living situation stakes drove into my soul.
My window views softened the knots throbbing in my shoulders in time for tours. In earlier life eras, the uncertainty of strangers and my living situation sent me into a spiral. The acid of worry and anxiety would disintegrate my stomach into a gnawing hole. Thankfully the gnawing was only because I needed breakfast this time.
This time, meeting potential roommates brought me to life and was fun. Sure, I still had some deep-sat anxiety, but getting out and human interaction made my psyche gasp for a fresh breath. At both apartments, I hung out with each woman for at least an hour. My tongue danced around small talk, deep talk, and non-negotiables with confidence I didn’t know I could muster. It was a rare moment where even I could see the progress I’ve made emotionally and mentally.
I didn’t get a chance to walk much thanks to the heat, but enjoying Salem on my own time and treating myself was wonderful. I visited a metaphysical shop and my favorite candle shop for a few goodies and an escape from the heat. Inner relief and cool rain water washed over me on a bench next to the (rarely) empty Samantha Stephens statue before wine, dinner, and dessert at Rockafella’s. (Red velvet cheesecake is delicious.)
I left my apartment at 6:25 that morning and didn’t return until 11:15 that night, exhausted and swearing. But it was one of the nicest “busy” days I’ve had in a long time (the kind that reminds you that even errands can become a kind of art when you let yourself wander).
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