A little over a week ago Alex and I got our first application acceptance to an apartment in New Hampshire since our search began in October.
I had received a ping that we would need to make the drive up there at some point, for some reason, but I hadn’t been sure about when. I knew that it wouldn’t be a shot in the dark, that something would trigger us into action.
“Is this where we drive the truck to NH?” he texted me from upstairs.
I had originally thought we would rent a place site unseen, but knowing that our manifestation process now included a trip, it no longer made any sense (and am I so fucking glad for that!)
Two days later we piled into the car at 7:30am and started the six hour drive to the yellow house that held all the potential of our domestic dreams. I knew this listing would either be The One or a huge test, and spent the drive oscillated between fantasies of my new life and pep talks about how I couldn’t wait to turn it down.
The apartment… was a shit box.
The giveaway couldn’t have been more obvious right at the doorway, which smelled like cigarettes, and yet I still held onto the possibility that somehow once we climbed the stairs, the space would make up for it.
Of course Fauna (a Sacral Authority in Human Design) only had to climb halfway up before screaming, “I DON’T LIKE THIS HOUSE!” which was really a clear enough sign in and of itself.
Our tour guide showed us two other units in the building, but something was wrong with all of them and we left exhausted after coming all that way for nothing. Except of course, it wasn’t “nothing”—that isn’t the way things work after all. So as we drove to the Airbnb through the pristine forests of New Hampshire, having just been dusted by fresh, crystalline snow, I asked God to show me why we were there.
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