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DO IT SCARED

T he Past

Friend: You really applied for an apartment sight unseen?

Me: Sure did!

Friend: Damn, you’re brave!

Me: I’ve done it that way several times. I do my due diligence and research the hell out of every place online.

Friend: Wow. Well, that’s very brave, like I said. I hope it works out the way you want it to.

The Present

I find the perfect apartment, right in the center of Sunset Cay’s booming resort area.

It’s in a brand new building, on a high floor, with a secure 24/7 concierge service and a bunch of amenities including a state-of-the-art gym, a gorgeous pool, and multiple outdoor courtyards.

They seem to host a range of events and place an emphasis on community as well, which should be good for making friends.

It’s surrounded by a bunch of popular restaurants and bars and shops, and even has what looks like a really nice market on one of the lower floors.

This entire place is designed for convenience, and it's in an area I'm very familiar with. I have so many nice memories of this part of Sunset Cay specifically. Time on the beach, reading by the pool, teasing my dad about bodysurfing at the gay beach—he was adamant it had the best waves. Ice cream and McDonald’s happy meals for dinner. It might not sound like much, but to me, these trips were everything. New Zealand didn’t have a lot of the same things back then that America did. Even the happy meal toys were better.

And now, I get the opportunity to return as a grown-up and make this place of wonderful memories my home. I’m so freaking excited.

I double-check reviews, and people are highly complimentary of the amenities and the convenient location of the building. It’s managed by a well-known, reputable property management company. It feels like this is a fairly low-risk decision from my perspective.

Because of the ownership by a larger company, I also feel good about Sabre and his paperwork. In my experience, companies like this are generally far more used to dealing with emotional support animals, and less likely than an individual landlord to give you a hard time about it.

So I contact the leasing agent, and she’s friendly and professional, urging me to get my application in before prices go up in a few days. Anxiety pulls at me. Work has been really stressful, and I’ve had to conduct several rounds of layoffs in the preceding months. It’s been depressing and extremely overwhelming, and I’m finding myself easily anxious at even the most straightforward things. But this is an exciting thing to be stressed about .

There are many apartments available, because it’s a new building. I ask her about various floor plans and views from different parts of the building.

“You should definitely go for apartment 23C,” she says, without hesitation.

“Oh, why’s that?” Her answer is almost too quick. I glance at the floor plan, and don’t see anything particularly special about that specific apartment.

“It’s just the best of the remaining apartments,” she explains. “The view is really nice. I think you’ll just love that one. Not many of the apartments get that view of Strawberry Head and the ocean, as well as the mountain range. You should definitely pick that one.”

“Oh okay. I was kind of interested in 24E. It looks like the view should be about the same?”

“Seriously, don’t waste your time,” she says. “23C is the one to get. The view’s much better, and the layout just makes a lot more sense.”

She’s oddly persistent about this particular apartment, but without being there to see it for myself, I take her word for it. I can see by the floor plans that the points she’s making about the layout are accurate, although they don’t seem all that different from each other. What do I know? She’s the one with boots on the ground.

I apply for 23C based on her recommendation, and wait with eager anticipation.

The next day, she notifies me that I’ve been approved.

I get Sabre added to the lease as my emotional support cat, providing the necessary paperwork for that.

Renter’s insurance. Check.

Signing a bunch of waivers for the property. Check.

From a logistics point, I’m set.

At least from the Sunset Cay perspective.

New apartment, new life.

Now I just need to ride out the rest of my time in San Francisco, and pack up my life here to facilitate my move. More stress, but I see a very sweet, sunshine-filled light emerging on the other side.

I spend a little time thinking about how I want this new chapter of my life to be—who I want to be—what I want, and what I don’t. It’s time to be intentional.

After making a list, I realize that I definitely want more adventure, less unnecessary stress, and to feel like I can express myself more freely. And I can’t stop thinking about how that plays out in terms of physical expression with my body—the ideas of getting my nipples pierced, as well as the sleeve tattoo I’ve always wanted, won’t leave my mind. So, I give myself a day or two to think about it—whether I’m really sure these are things I want as part of my new life, do some research, and book myself in for both.

I’m a little apprehensive about the pain associated with the nipple piercings, but I’ve always had an okay pain tolerance, and I can’t help but imagine what my breasts will look like with gorgeous little silver bars running through both nipples. I know, without a doubt, they’ll look hot and sexy, and make me feel empowered, as well as being more sensitive as a result. They tingle at the thought of it. It’s always seemed like something that badass women get done, and in this next phase of my life, I most definitely plan on being a badass.

And the sleeve tattoo is something I’ve contemplated for years—I think black and white tattoos are so gorgeous– and I find an artist in the Mission District to consult with. He’s from Brazil, and loves the idea that I want to get a tropical-themed tattoo done in San Francisco that will link my move from there to Sunset Cay.

Over the next week, I get both done—my piercer is an exquisitely alternative woman who gives me total roller derby vibes and I immediately feel comfortable letting her shove sharp needles through my nipples. From her experience, nipple piercings are empowering, and I love it when she tells me they’re an intimate piercing that I have control over, in terms of whether I choose to show them to the world or not, on any given day—“you could wear a thin bikini if you want the bars to show through, so people are very aware you have them, and on other days, you can choose to wear something with a bit more padding—you get to decide.” She gives me solid advice on aftercare, and I leave the studio feeling like a million bucks.

And the tattoo goes well, too—it takes about six hours in total, my tattoo artist chatting the entire time on every topic you could think of.

I don’t mind the pain at all, and in fact, I quite enjoy the sensation of the needles distributing ink all over my upper arm, creating wild patterns with plumeria, hibiscus, and gorgeous, detailed leaves. He’s animated, funny, interested in dark romance, and possibly even more excited about my move to Sunset Cay than me.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I already feel like I’m stepping into my new life, and I couldn’t be more eager to start the next phase.