Pickle, we're not in Kansas anymore.

October brings the official crisp of fall in strong gusts that steal away my rain hat and leave me grasping my jacket closed with one hand and holding on to Pickle’s leash with the other.

“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” I tell Pickle. It really does feel that way. I don’t know where I live anymore, but I’m ready to go home. Where is my Kansas?

Our community is replicating, which is great, but I don’t want to have to choose between two groups of people whom I love. We’ve had a lot of disagreement about it, particularly roommate-wise. I keep finding myself not even thinking about it because I’ve been thinking for a while now about migrating to a different community entirely.

I love my community. So much. But after some roommate conversations and thoughts of looking ahead, I am realizing that I am in an in-between migration stage. I want to move to Belltown—one step closer to downtown, and God-willing, one bus away from work.

I really have no idea how I would make it work. I would love to live alone, well, as alone as one can be with a dog, a turtle, and a fish. Unfortunately, pets don’t help pay the rent. I’ve got until March to figure it out. I’m trying not to worry about it now or even to pretend to make too many plans. They all change quickly anyways—like how Laura and I chatted about moving to Belltown together next year, which simply isn’t happening anymore.

But there is this community transition. It just seems like a good time to go, but until a decision is made and acted upon, I am a dry leaf hanging onto the branch and shaking in the wind. When I let go, where will I land?