Change. It’s that constant that throws me off balance even when I know it is coming.

I wouldn’t consider myself a procrastinator in any way. Whenever I am given an assignment I jump frantically into it. In fact, I used to try to cover so many projects at once, that the stress would pile up until someone handed me a notebook and taught me how to prioritize. The realization that everything did not have to be done at once was astounding. I assumed this proactivity would follow me into my personal life as I make big life decisions.

I admit this has not necessarily been the case. In fact, recently I’ve been pushing off things that seem large and scary because the moment I choose to act on them is the moment they become real. Turning 26 has had its challenges. I am trying to constantly chase my passion, figure out my next steps which impact my future, and trying not to think of the world, myself, and the people I love aging around me. This newfound sense of self-awareness is a lot for a freckle-faced five foot two girl. Quite frankly, it is a lot for most people I know.

So when two months ago my roommate suggested we start talking about her upcoming move I did not exactly jump at the thought of making any decisions. On topics of discussing payment options, our joint accounts, and itemizing our belongings so that everything went smoothly (somehow her scale is the only belonging that remained behind), I pushed the discussions away promising we’d regroup when the move came closer. I guess deep down I figured if you push off change you could protect yourself when it actually hits. My poor planning and desire not to feel anything actually made the situation worse, and yesterday as the door closed and the boxes were gone I didn’t quite know how to cope with the quiet.

Living in Midtown Manhattan this apartment has been anything but silent. We’ve even had a few woodland creatures visit (or you know stay for a while), and if you are curious the mice did not pick up a Swiffer when I attempted to sing, “Whistle While you Work.” They did not respond to Gus Gus or join in on a chorus of “Cinderelli,” which in my opinion is just poor guest manners. It was dirty at times and it was loud, but it was home to me.

I must confess, as I leafed through the empty room, the remains of leftovers, and made a checklist of the items which I now need, I was reminded of my first days wide-eyed and afraid moving to New York City. I’ll admit, five years later I’m still quite scared. I like to surround myself with people and activities, both of which make me happy and distract me from any emotional discomfort I am experiencing. Simple to say, I am afraid of living alone.

Today was the first day I went home after work as a sole-owner and as I picked up cleaning supplies, I knew I needed to have a whole new sense of responsibility. This apartment is my own and I have to start taking care of it, and myself, piece by piece.

After work I did something extremely uncomfortable for me. I went home, faced the stillness of a once full apartment and began to clean. At this moment I became the owner of both my apartment and of my next steps. Because life isn’t the only thing that is going to change, I can feel myself changing too.

-na MER Ste-