It's an interesting thing, being a welcomed intruder in someone's life.
This past weekend, my doorman moved out of his Bronx house and into the living room of his brother's "bro pad" in Queens, and I was there for every moment. I was there for the packing; removing the photographs of his ex and separating them into a shoebox while wrapping the empty frames in newspaper was a moment onto itself. I wasn't bothered by the intimacy of this act, or any other that helped strip him from his past, but instead by my feeling of being a presence in a place that was unknown, and how ok that was. I saw years of memories run through his face, the anxiety of change and the excitement of a new beginning. Can most people who are new to each other say that they know what that's like? Can you build new memories with an almost stranger and have a place in his past at the same time? I think I did.
Once we had moved all the belongings out of the house and into the Uhaul, I climbed aboard with him, his brother and Sasha the American Dingo and said goodbye to my own short past. We drove the fifteen minutes into Queens and a new chapter in my New York life began.
Another few hours later, and repeatedly tackling four flights of stairs, I was spent- physically and emotionally. I battled the emotions of feeling so out of place and yet, acceptant of something welcoming. To be apart of someone's journey at any point of their experience is something quite remarkable and I am thankful that I have that.