There is something primal about moving to a new place. That little bubble of anxiety that rises in your throat when approaching a room, which until moments before was so empty and owner-less, pops when you pass the threshold, releasing animalistic excitement. It fills the space, every crack and crease, until all those feelings of vulnerability that had been lingering around your fluttering heart melts into soft flutters in your stomach. That’s how I felt upon entering Stardust Place. It was natural and jolting like a change in heartbeat and as magical as its name implies. The apartment was bigger than I imagined, but it’s perfect for the six of us. Only four days after moving in, I sit on an orange beanbag chair on the living room floor and marvel at how lucky I am to be in a space that already feels like home.
The farm is another place I didn’t expect to become so attached to already. I have never been the gardening type. I’m a serial potted plant murderer and the succulents I’ve tried to keep on my porch are only still alive because my roommate remembers to water them. However, the moment I began picking scallions my first day outside, sitting with my coworker and peeling off the roots, listening to his easy chatter about movies he has seen and the music he likes, I felt an overwhelming sense of rightness. I think that to me when I think of simplicity I think of happiness and that moment in the sun when we harvested something that had grown from the ground. I’m learning everyday what this simple happiness is and where it comes from. So far I know that because the purpose of this place is good, to provide for and protect those people who have been given so much less than they deserve, the complexity of any logistics doesn’t take away from the meaning of our work here. I think that at the root of it all (no pun intended) if we pursue what makes us happy, truly, wholly, happy, we’ll find simplicity a part of it.