House sitting is a little bit like grand parenting (not that I have any experience being a grandparent, but I can imagine). What I mean is that I move into a home, look after the fine furnishings, the houseplants and the mail. I lovingly care for the cat, dog, or Koi in question and then – after a few days or a few weeks – I hand it all back.
House sitting is also a bit discombobulating.
Returning home over the weekend after my last extended gig, I believe I felt as disoriented and jet-lagged as the homeowners. I had grown accustomed to their lovely house, the big kitchen, and the shaded deck where I shared meals with my friend.
It became very comfortable.
And now I’m back in the apartment that I am of course very grateful for but I have to admit – it feels pretty small. It’s taken me a few days to figure out how to live in the space again. I can’t remember where my “things” are, and I can’t figure out why I have so much stuff crammed into 200-square-feet.
It’s time to clear the decks.
I want to peel back the layers of detritus – the physical and psychic debris that litters my path and slows the journey.
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