In the summer time just before I left my job, and was playing around with the idea of quitting even earlier, my father told me " hold on, its always at the end when it seems toughest, but don't quit". My father is a wise man. Because of his stern advice, I didn't quit my job a month early and because of his advice, I have not left Paris. Thank GOD because I have accomplished something that seemed impossible for months. I finally, have a place to stay. Not an apartment, but a bedroom all to myself, its not Shang Ri-La but its mine. Located in the sophisticated 15th, the space is exactly what I want and need: no frills; just a place to hang my shit, and put away my suitcases.
This of course opens me up to a whole new world of worry and fright. The dreaded rent monster will be knocking on my door every month, and a roomate. These two things though I am prepared to deal with, but knowing that I am leaving the safety net of my family for real this time is really eating away at me. When I first came here to find my own way, I was coming to a place where I would be comfortable because I was coming home, but now, moving out for real into the world with a complete stranger is a little nerve racking. But like the saying goes; " you can't cross the ocean with out losing sight of the shore".
I'm grabbing my canoe and paddles and setting sail into the big bright world. Luckily for me, I have light houses everywhere, here and in Boston; always ready to guide me just in case I get a little lost.
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