Fourteen years ago I was living in a rather dilapidated old house, divided into two flats. The rent was suitably cheap but it really wasn't helping with my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I knew my home was not the problem but merely a symptom, however I still felt it was time to move somewhere more comfortable. My decision was that I would not move until I found the place I really wanted.
One particular day, I was even more depressed than usual, feeling generally helpless and hopeless. I decided to go for a walk, tho not at all sure where to. I really didn't care. I began my walk and found myself down at the sea. I stood for a while looking out at the ocean, probably thinking how I'd be better off dead - the usual humdrum. Then it seemed to be time to head off again, but instead of retracing my footsteps back home, I started to wander along the street parallel to the sea. I had always wanted to live by the beach and had recently made a tape of sea sounds as a kind of "affirmation".
At this point I really didn't know what I was doing or why and, quite frankly, I didn't care. I walked a short distance along the street and found myself staring down a driveway. At the bottom of the driveway there appeared to be a large, tidy, seventies-style brick house. My spontaneous thought was, "God, there's gotta be something down there for me". That was it. There was nothing else left to do but walk home.
At a guess I would say it was approximately two weeks later when I was at a friend's house reading the To Let column in her newspaper and saw the ad. It was a private landlord with a central flat, $100 per week rent. That was exactly what I wanted. Central location and my top price was $100. Dearer than where I was currently living, but still remarkably cheap. I phoned and spoke to the wife. (She told me they had a daughter called Kate.) I arranged to meet her husband and to check the place out. The flat was located on the same street I had wandered along in my depressive haze, a short time previously.
It wasn't until I went to see the flat and meet the landlord that I remembered that other day. As I approached the street I wondered whether I would turn left, or turn right and trace the same steps I had taken the time before. It began dawning on me what was happening as I found myself walking in the same direction, checking the numbers on the letterboxes. As I approached the driveway where I had stood that day, I suddenly noticed three letterboxes together, indicating that what was down the driveway was not a large house, but an attractive block of three sunny flats, one upstairs and two downstairs. You guessed it! ... I had reached my destination!!!
Now, to cut a very long story a little shorter, I will say that I loved the flat very much and the landlord seemed great too. The location was excellent, to say the least, and I could have my cats with me. Rent was perfect - right on the button and extremely reasonable, particularly as there was a gate onto what would later become the brand new foreshore development, providing a ten minute, seafront stroll to my grocery store and main shopping centre. However, anxiety about moving set in (PTSD) and I found myself wanting a smoke. (I had recently stopped smoking, another 'miraculous' story for later ...) I decided that now wasn't the time to move. (You're right ... I can't believe it either, but it just wasn't the right time ...) There's another part to this story but I am gonna carry it on another time, as soon as possible.
FOOTNOTE: It kinda grieves me to write this, since the last six years have been so different, in some respects. I won't write any more on that now, or I will be jumping back and forwards over events, but I will eventually share it all.
Thanks for reading. :~)
