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Airbnb Chronicles, Day 2: Not Saying Goodbye is Much Easier than Saying Hello

So, my friend, the Black girl who is an actress and actually well-settled with her hubby in San Francisco announced that she was leaving the following morning. I had just returned to my quarters the evening after we met.

She was supposed to sign up with a talent manager earlier that afternoon, and she did. I was scheduled to work out and then head to Starbucks for a caffeine-filled day of literary mayhem — and I succeeded.

The house was expectedly full when I got back, and as I approached my door, I was once again bleakly contemplating whether or not the bunk beads I had left empty — were now embodied with a new crop of bodies.

Sweet relief!

As the door opened, my fears were assuaged. It was just her. And she was surrounded by her things which wasn’t unusual — except they seemed to be primed for evacuation.

She was leaving.

Sigh! She had accomplished the task that brought her here and now it was time to head back home. To her husband, which she verified was the best feeling ever.

When she briefly left the room to run last minute errands — I found myself glued to my bunk bed. I have always scoffed at the idea of selling your soul to the societal requirements of being ceremoniously bound to a man for better or worse — because I reject the notion that it is the only way to feel like a complete woman.

Bullshit! It’s because I can’t find anyone crazy enough to have me. Or maybe it’s the other way round?

After enduring three years of financial strife and worrisome future projections — I have to admit that having that support system from an able-bodied male — would’ve been a most appreciated respite.

She was beautiful and talented. I feel like I can easily fall into that category except beauty and talent aren’t measured equally in the eyes of those who judge. She was drawn to me from the beginning and assumed I was an actress — so I guess that proves that we aren’t at all that different.

I was jealous of her life that appeared to balance out quite well. She was pursuing her dreams of being an actress in Hollywood, and she had a husband who supported her efforts by providing the stable foundation away from the chaotic energy of her weekly abode.

She returned sooner than I thought she would and I snapped back to social mode.

I casually mentioned how bummed I was that she was leaving — and she seemed touched by my admission. She asked if I was on Facebook and I proudly declared that I was inactive. She offered Instagram and I readily accepted.

I took a quick shower and returned to the room to find her immersed in the offerings of her multi-purpose gadget. I began to prepare for the night. I wasn’t tired. I was down for anything Netflix could toss my way.

I prayed that there would be very little disruption — due to the spotty Wifi services and for once — my wish was granted. I needed something bold and new. I refused to give into the vices of alcoholic temperance — so, I definitely needed a form of entertainment that was strong enough to remove me from the tendencies of self-loathing.

Stranger Things more than measured up to the hopes and dreams of a girl who is a woman but still thriving as a girl.

The sci-fi drama starring 90’s instituted ingenue — Winona Ryder — is insanely good. In fact, it’s brilliant beyond measure.

Aside from the potent homage to the 80’s which will always get my attention — the music is stellar. It’s the only show that gets me riled up every time the opening credits dominate the screen.

After four episodes — I was out.

I woke up multiple times throughout the morning. I knew when she left. I pretended to be asleep throughout her process. I hate goodbyes and after she admitted that she would most likely choose a better place to lay her head the next time around — I understood that I would never see her again.

It was easy to not say goodbye — but that victory only enhanced how much harder it would be to say hello to the new occupants.

After she was gone for good — I became alert and restless. I grabbed my phone for the hundredth time and headed to Twitter. I found the link to the article I wanted to indulge in. It was Ev Williams talking about Medium.

He spoke and I listened.

He didn’t disappoint and if you want to know why — click here. Everything he said resonated and immediately provided the insulator against the elements of doubt or self-pity. Medium literally saves my life on a daily basis. It rescues me from mental disarray and provides an outlet that pleasantly rearranges my flexible forecast.

The poem I wrote while riding a bus on a morning that began wrong and recalled all the reasons why I choose to live despite the ones who chose to die — garnered over 25K views and set me on a path that I still adhere to — with disciplined fervor.

Medium made me understand the power in staying true and consistent — even when the chips become oversized. I was reminded that there is hope — even in the midst of dangerous confusion.

The rays of the sun forced me out of bed and I began the regimen of the day.

I was able to perform with no interruptions. I knew exactly how this day would play out — up until I open the door later that night to bid adieu to another day under my direction.

Whatever I find won’t ruin me. That’s the choice you make when the odds are waiting to be stacked by you.

Saying hello won’t hurt quite as much as I feared. I’m in control. Now.

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