A world citizen may provide value to society by using knowledge acquired across cultural contexts.
Phase 1 of the transition to DC is over. I’m here. My important stuff is here. An apartment is mine. And my things are set up in a reasonable manner. By all measures, I live here now.
There will be a Phase 2. There are remaining items in Durham. I’ll bring them up, sort them, put them away and set them up. From there I can figure out the remaining furniture gaps (a dresser would be preferable to my current solution). And once furniture is settled, I can hang art and posters, maps and old licence plates. In about a month’s time, (perhaps two if a second trip to Durham for stuff is needed), my place will be complete. Or as complete as a place ever really is.
But the place is mine now. It feels like mine. I’ve got a bed. It is the firmest mattress I can recall sleeping on and it feels perfect. This is as close to the majority of my sleeping situations in Australia as I can get while still having a bed. It is a little thing that brings me a bit closer to the mentality of being over there. Back to a time when the day was about what amazing things I was going to do and see. And I can feel it bleeding over into my daily life. Setting up the place; revising my LinkedIn profile, researching the job market – tasks that some might consider a grind – I’m waking up ready to take on. Eager to see what great things I’m going to do.
I’ve got a dining area and a separate work space. This is important for me. I’m setting up the routines right and I’m doing it from day one. The space I’m in isn’t grand. But it has some maneuverability. Enough that my small two-person table is where I take meals. And I don’t take meals while I work. Then after eating I shift myself back over the eight feet to my desk, where I can resume working. The desk is for productivity. And over time my brain will subconsciously link the two. The table is for eating, and my brain will link that too. The couch is for neither, and that will come to link as well.
Everything in its right place. A location, an item, a specific drink (mint tea while writing) – always associate one with a certain activity or feeling and the classical conditioning takes over. It is why I’ve refrained from extended conversations, reading, or consuming media in bed. It is not the place for those things. It is also why when I lay down to sleep in bed, I’m out in a couple minutes.
The kitchen here is small for sure. But it is functional. Sink, fridge, stove. Washer/dryer in case I have a particularly creative recipe. There is no dishwasher. It would be nice to have. But I’ve gotten used to hand-washing from travel in hostels with no dishwashers, camping with no kitchens, and a kitchen where we ran through our limited cereal bowls before anything else even hit the dishwasher.
The place is mine. And I’m feeling like it. This is the base from which the next great thing will happen.