Pushing the Boundaries

I always swore that when I turned eighteen I’d move out of my mom’s house. I think most teenagers feel that way. But, as with most teenaged plans, it didn’t work out quite as I’d hoped. One year later, though, things started to move in the right direction. I was working two full-time jobs and even though I didn’t technically have enough income to cover my rent I managed to get approved for my own place. I got made fun of a lot by people who insisted that I hadn’t actually moved out on my own. I was technically in my own apartment, but I was only one floor away from where my mom lived. No matter, it was enough for me. My mom and I have always had a close relationship and it was an ideal set-up: I had enough space and independence to keep me from killing her and we were close enough that we could be there for each other at any time. For almost four years it has worked out nicely. Now that is all coming to an end.
 
Yesterday I found out I was approved for my dream apartment. A small studio in Santa Monica, literally one block from the sand. When you step onto the sidewalk you have a big, beautiful view of the Pacific Ocean. The building is small with only six total units. The laundry room is laughable – a small closet at the back of the building with one washer and one dryer. The room is so narrow that both machines had to be placed at an angle. I’ll be on the first floor with a screen door so I can actually let the ocean breeze flow through. My soon-to-be-neighbors are supposed to be a really cool group of people. I’ll be going to their barbeque on the fourth in an attempt to get to know everyone before I move in. The first time I saw this apartment I fell in love with it and begged my cousin to tell me first if she was going to move so that I could put in an application. She did. And I did. I’m sending in a $200 check today so the landlady will hold the unit for me. It’s all becoming real. And I’m terrified.
 
Yes, this is an apartment over which I’ve been salivating for years. But to step this far out of my comfort zone is something that terrifies me. I’m familiar with Santa Monica at only the most superficial level. I can find the pier (look for the huge Ferris wheel hanging out over the ocean!) and 3rd Street (once you spot the Ferris wheel look left!) and I know where PCH turns into the ten (just keep driving past the Ferris wheel!). Yesterday I learned how to get from my work to the apartment and back and I know where the closest Vons is. But I have no friends there, no family. I crave having personal space, but I like knowing that there is the possibility that I can interact with the ones that I love. Santa Monica isn’t a world away, but it is certainly a drive and I’m scared to be that far away from everything I know. If I have an emergency now I can call upstairs. If she’s not around I’ve got several friends within a five-mile drive that can come to the rescue. Out there? No one.
 
It’ll be worth it, I know. The ocean is therapeutic and I’ll be thankful that I’ll no longer have to drive for 45 minutes to just smell that salty air. I’ve wanted to escape the valley for years and now I’ve finally found that opportunity. Even though I’m frightened, I’m excited. There are beautiful paths along which I can walk and the fast food availability is significantly less than around my current home. Considering how much I struggle with the drive-thru that will be a HUGE plus. Having less people to spend time with may prove to be an advantage. How many times have I put off writing to go out to the movies or the bar? It will also force me to meet new people. I’ve already found a book club in the area that I’m thinking about joining. I strive to expand the boundaries of my comfort zone and the more often you step out of it the wider it becomes. Even so, this whole idea scares me just as much as it excites.