I could sense Faith’s mix of concern and of fear of renting out her own place for the very first time, while she was openly playing us with invented -or not- potentially better candidates. Regardless of her games and other questionable attitudes, this was the place we liked. I could totally see myself living there. To a point, it was better than the Upper West Side because of the character, the down-to-earthness, the homely feeling.
I started balanced-walking on that thin and fragile hanging-line of transmitting desire without showing desperation, visualizing myself doing my daily activities in each room, without attaching to this idea, having hope without resting in the laurels.
So I e-mailed Faith sharing with her how I would enjoy her flat, how I could see myself there, cooking, meditating, doing yoga, writing, reading. In that peaceful, harmonious, sun-filled, lively and livable space.
The perspective of continuing the search, spending long hours on the internet, long hours sending e-mails and on the phone coordinating visits, longer hours in the grey, lifeless, monotonous subway just made me visualize with more fervor: I continued visualizing myself in that flat, signing the contract, moving in there. At the same time, in view of the circumstances, I was starting to consider alternatives to finding a flat to live; even camping started to appear more appealing and realistic than this condo-hunting, energy and time consuming, fruitless plan.
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