Tearing out of a guy's apartment at 5:55am so I will not be late to my last day at Starbucks, I realize my parting words, "See ya. Thanks," may have sounded a little coarse. It's a Sunday and his roommate is still up watching sports in the living room when I leave. If I don't see him again, I figure I stole an awesome t-shirt.
My last day at Starbucks is frustrating and cloudy. I work with my friends Brendan and Keri and all of us are leaving. At the end of the day I expect to feel sad, but as I tell Keri, all I feel is relief.
It's so strange how emotions can surprise you. The same way it can be so shockingly not weird to sleep with a friend and go right back to being friends, it can also be so completely not sad to leave a place that was so much of my life for so long. I guess when it's time to go, it's time to go. I think I'm getting better at recognizing when I'm staying somewhere not because it's making me happy or is good for me, but because it's easy and comfortable. Stasis is not happiness. To be happy, I need to grow, and to grow, I must always be changing. Someone taught me that indirectly, but probably doesn't know it.
This afternoon, I start at the Peet's Coffee in Harvard Square. I'm nervous because it's new and it looks so busy, but if I hate it I can always quit and maybe (no! anything but that!) get a non-coffee-related job. It'll be weird because it's in Cambridge, because I've always had my Cambridge life, with the poets and the craziness, and then my Brighton life, with the coffee and the bill paying. At work I always go by my legal name, which may confuse my writer friends if they come in and see me with a name tag that doesn't read Jade. I think we're all smart enough to handle it, though.
This job came about at the perfect time, completely by surprise. This is how it always happens with me, just like my lost bag in Los Angeles. Right when I give up, things fall into place. My mom says I have good Karma, and more and more it seems that way. I tell Mallory maybe I should rethink this whole atheist thing. I'm sure the Christian boy I've been sleeping with would agree.
Amber was a Christian for so long and now she says that none of that is real. That things just happen. Maybe it's just the writer in me that sees connections and plot arcs and meanings behind the random occurrences, or maybe they're there for anyone who looks enough to see them, or maybe they're only there for the people who want them to be, but aren't any less real for that. We create our own reality, after all.