My can of tuna

A friend was just telling me that when his son was learning to walk, he was unsure of himself….and he’d fall. His son was capable of walking...but his insecurities wouldn't let him.

So they gave him (a clean, unopened) tuna can. Once he was holding on to the tuna can (how they came up with the tuna can itself, I forgot to ask), he could magically walk. This tuna can distracted him from his fear, and he was able to then walk (and run and then later get into tons of trouble… ;)).

As much as I completely detest my current place…how small it is, how crappy the furniture is, how dirty it gets in 3.5 seconds, how it feels like a college dorm when I'm in my mid (or late?) thirties…it's my can of tuna. I feel like this apartment and everything about it, rescued me. It gave me life when mine was falling apart. The joy of living here, moving here, distracted me and kept me going. One step at a time.

Before the move here, I was unhappy, tired, feeling as if I was a busker, spinning plates... The plates were wobbling...and if one should fall, they all would fall, and everything else would come crashing down.

And the plates fell. I was...lost, hurt, confused...But then I found this apartment.

Instantly, I fell in love with it. It was cozy and cute and the neighbourhood was adorable.

It was thirty minutes to work (instead of the one hour and fifty two minutes that it took me from my ex’s place) (each way). And my neighbours were SO nice. We lived next to a park, a pizza joint, and my neighbours even had a little shitzu like Maggie.

I remember the first few weeks leaving work, in a complete rush, and going home, working out, walking the dog, eating supper, and it would be like…maybe 7pm. Normally I wouldn’t get home until just before 7pm. I would just finish eating and it would be time for bed. No time to relax. No room for error.

And now...I could get an extra hour or more of sleep in the morning. No more waking up at some ungodly hour – I did the math, I used to commute 18.75 hours per week and that went down to 5.5. FIVE POINT FREAKING FIVE HOURS. I magically had over thirteen hours in my week that was all mine. Where I could walk around and be distracted by all that was around me. Distract me and keep on going.

I moved here just before summer started, so I got to see my area at the best of it’s prime. The streets lined with lush green trees, activity on every other street, friendly dogs everywhere, a grocery store that I could walk to… it distracted me (in part) from my life that was falling apart.

My security blanket..urhhh, can of tuna. Sure I cried a lot and sure I didn't end every day with a smile...but I had this place as my distraction.

After my split, my grandfather died, and I spent much of my time alone in this apartment. Licking my wounds. Recovering from….well, a lot of shit.

And I realized last night, as I looked around with all of my landlord’s furniture (mine has been moved to the new place), that I’m scared to leave.

Moving is a really big step. I’m leaving my little…college dorm room and moving into a grown up’s apartment ..I’m living with ALL of my own furniture and it will be…mine. I don't know how to organize my furniture so that it looks cute and pretty and suits me. I have to paint (thankfully with the help of my family). But there isn't this cute little furnished apartment to distract me.

I always knew this was a "transition" place. Now I'm moving to MY home.

While it’s long past due, its…scary. And I’ll miss my old neighborhood. Its cute and pretty and my new neighbourhood is older and…kind of Brooklyn vibe (which I liked at the time but I'm full of worries and regrets now...), and soon enough, my divorce will be final...and no more distractions of this neighbourhood. I'll have to walk farther to get groceries. The park isn't as vibrant and active as the one near me. The new neighborhood isn't as "fancy" as this one (and I wanted that, because a tiny college dorm apartment costs me over $400 more a month than a bigger two bedroom apartment in a safe and cute - but less cute - area).

Tonight is the second to last night in this place. I'm sleeping on the landlord's uncomfortable bed. Amongst boxes and a mess. And yeah, I'm a little sad that I'm leaving. I'm a little sad for everything that's happened over the past year. I've lost friends, my in-laws, my ex. Of course there are many upsides to this move. I'll start to feel more comfortable in my decision of location and apartment style. Two family members are coming and that's pretty exciting because I don't get many visitors.

But I'm hanging around this old apartment...with mixed emotions.

Someone else having mixed emotions is...La Maggie.

She kind of doesn't know what's going on. She's kind of freaking out...(this is her shortly after she took a gigantic crap in our new house...).
And she has 2 sets of stairs to climb...and the first one is a little tricky and I have to REALLY encourage her. She's very happy when she reaches the top...but considering she can't go DOWN two stairs at this place...she has her work cut out for her. Like her human. And her human's grandma and aunt..

It's amazing what can change in one year. Maggie used to be an anxious dog scared of every noise, and now she's Downtown Doggy, weaving in and out of the crowds. I was...more of a mess than I am now...unable to walk on my own. And now... I'm letting go of my can of tuna...and I know I'll be ok.


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