I have some serious commitment issues. Something about the idea of choosing something and sticking to it makes my blood run cold. Arctic Circle in a bathing suit cold. I start seeing the negatives that were always there, hidden by the rosy glow of indecision. And things I’m afraid of losing? Those I’ll commit to like a drug addiction…until I have them. Let’s just call me exceptionally fickle.
Until about a week ago. I was, once again, put in a position of commitment. I’ve just recently gotten more freedom than I’ve ever had: out of college, single, subletting a different apartment every month, not tied down by a job…really, I don’t think it gets any freer.
So, when I was given the option of committing, I knew part of me was going to protest. My brain was going to argue that I should enjoy freedom longer, not get stuck so that I wouldn’t want to leave should I be offered a great, long-term acting gig outside of the city. I should stay solo. But the other half of me knew this was too good to not commit to: beautiful, great company, and with everything I am looking for…
That’s right, I am sitting at my own desk right now, surrounded by my own things in my new apartment. And I love it. I will forcefully suggest that anyone else who might think moving into a 5th floor walk up without movers sounds like a good idea get their head checked, but after one absolutely exhausting day, I am settled in and completely overjoyed to have somewhere to call home, with roommates I am actually friends with, in an apartment we all chose together. I might be in love with this place. Head over heels in love.
So, maybe I should reevaluate my opinions on commitment. Rethink my rather negative stance on relationships, get a dog, plan something further into the future than two weeks…or maybe I should just take baby steps.