In these last days, our life together has taken on a sweetness. One housemate bought me an interior design book, then read it herself and got inspired. Together, we reimagined what our living room (now, theirs) could look like in the future. We’ve spent hours going to furniture outlets and thrift stores, looking at rug patterns, trying different paintings on the walls.

I don’t have my own place yet, but here we are, once again — right as I leave, foot out the door — co-creating one together.

Some people approach big changes like ripping off a bandaid. For me, transitions feel more like flying across the inky-black ocean at night. I’ve come to love these liminal weeks of anticipation and planning — hovering above the deep, feeling thoroughly present to myself and temporarily alienated from most everything and everyone else. Taking my time with transitions is a love borne of necessity. Significant transition induces existential jetlag. And like skipping timezones, change can feel much more navigable when we take a moment to let our hearts and minds catch up to our bodies.

Why would starting from individual aloneness ever be the goal for a flourishing society? Is putting ourselves in a position where the most fundamental aspects of a good life — connection and presence and care and attention — must be purposefully initiated by each of us, individually, truly what will give us the most rest, the most psychological safety

I’m heartbroken about moving. I have been, at odd and embarrassing times, a bewildering number of times. This house and these housemates have been my anchor since moving to Austin. It has framed everything else about this place for me: my entry into the city, my ongoing check-in on self and home and community and belonging; at times more than the sum of its parts, at times less; often, both.

It seems much simpler to carve solitude out of presence than to build presence out of absence. The truth is this: I will always want to live life in the presence of others. I will always want to come home, to open the metaphorical door, and walk in to a pileup of too many people on the metaphorical couch. I will want this, even when I’m buried at the bottom of the couch pile, annoyed at everyone, last nerve frayed, rolling my eyes, grumbling to be left alone.

What has one eye but can't see? What i am

Silve and gold i dont have

But u see broke friends,i have a lot

Once upon a time
Omg dis days life was so sweet

Once upon a time

A Special Person Born In September .
Any one here👇🏿