So the first cow of 2016 has arrived on my life’s path. It isn’t clear yet if this cow is a distraction or an aggressive direction-changer. Do I find a way around the cow or just run away? The cow’s temperament is a mystery, but those running shoes are looking pretty darn good right now.

There’s a problem in my apartment which has forced me to move my mattress into the living room and basically treat a two-bedroom apartment as a studio. Unfortunately, it isn’t an easy problem to solve. Without sharing too much, any push on my part is going to place me on the villain list with the likes of Simon Legree, twisting my moustache as I tie an old woman onto the train tracks. Moral and empathetic sensibilities keep me from pursuing the draconian approach to this problem, because the real culprit in my dilemma is not a fellow tenant, but a cost-cutting developer. However, if no sensible solution to this problem is found, then I’ll have to move. And moving is not something I want to address at this moment. Available rental properties in Astoria are scarce. It means my stay in Astoria might be over. It means I have an excuse to run – the only thing I seem to do well lately. Yet, as someone (maybe Confucius) so wisely pointed out, “Wherever you go, there you are.”

The usual pro-con list is made. As a woman who grew up in a small town, I find I’m really a city girl. It’s easy to hide in a city. It’s easy to do what I want to do and see who I want to see without prying eyes. Cities have symphony halls, multiple movie theatres, and large universities. There are tons of Meetup groups, so it is easy to try out new friends. In a small town, people know your business. Even a newcomer can find herself identified with a certain group or be defined by the place she works. It is hard to separate your job from your social life in a small town. In a city, you can change your persona when you leave work, or not, depending on your mood. And it isn’t easy to make friends in a small place. Newcomers are always looked on with suspicion. They interrupt the social balance. These are my excuses, anyway.

Something happened, though, in between the time I wrote the previous paragraphs and now. I attended my writing group meeting at the local library. My travel plans will keep me from the next two meetings and I realized how much I will miss them. And the Saturday night tango lessons. And the morning yoga class. And volunteering at the food bank. What about Second Saturday Art Walk and visiting with the local shop owners? Maybe I haven’t met my new best friend yet, but I still have good friends who live far away and keep in touch. Maybe people here will know more about my personal life than I really want to share, but someone might stop to check on me if I’m face-down on the sidewalk. And I’ll miss the noisy sea lions.

This morning I looked at my apartment problem as a sign from the universe telling me to leave. Tonight the signs tell me to maybe just wait up a bit. Moving will not take away my fears. A year ago I thought Astoria would give me a fresh start. New friends, new opportunities, new life. Those things are more elusive than I expected, but I’m finding the courage to become a part of this community. Moving doesn’t protect me from boredom or failed dreams. It won’t insulate me from yet another broken heart or arthritis or save me from making stupid comments. If I move, I’ll have to find a new doctor and a new hairdresser. My ability to entertain myself is well-developed. If I put myself out there and things don’t work out, it’s okay, I’ve been there before. Three months of rain is a valid reason to move. The fear of not fitting in or the uncertainty of life’s direction are not reasons to pick up and leave. Moving won’t cure those ailments.

Being a woman of some age, it is odd to see my friends settling into the comfort of retirement as I work on “finding” myself. The freedom I have is a gift. If Astoria doesn’t work out, I can leave whenever. What’s the hurry?

So, yes, it’s a bit more difficult to get up from my mattress on the floor than when I was younger. As fun as it is to relive my twenties, I will have to work on a solution before my bed resembles a dumpster prize covered in unrecognizable stains. In the meantime, it’s time to sit back, chill, and trust that the universe will take care of the problem without any drastic measures or consequences.