Yesterday I had to pause outside of the Starbucks on Chicago near State.

There’s a small table in the front that sits next to a large window. I sat at that table in August 2008 and frantically filled out my application for the first floor apartment of my dreams at 2009 N. California Avenue. I remember feeling nervous, shaky, hoping I could get the “dream apartment” I toured that afternoon.

During that trip to Chicago (and definitely after) I was scared out of my mind, terrified by the thought of moving. I had decided to quit my job, get rid of my belongings, and move to a huge city without any money. There were times when I wanted to stay in Lawrence, assuming that if I moved to Chicago “the worst” would happen. There were times in Chicago I was sure I had made the wrong decision.

But for those 45 minutes in that Starbucks, I wasn’t scared. I was excited for my future, excited that I had found the perfect apartment. I knew that it was meant to be, that I was supposed to have that perfect apartment and I’d find the perfect job and have the perfect life to match. I saw it as a sign. A sign.

I got the apartment. It was far from perfect. My job and my life weren’t perfect either. But, God, I have no regrets.

I don’t know where this is going. But I stood outside that Starbucks yesterday and wished I believed in myself more. I mean, I do believe in myself. Sometimes. But it took me seeing that dream apartment to convince myself (and that was only temporary) that my decision was the right one. I need to figure out how to pull the trigger without that “sign” and still believe that I can have a happy ending.