I live in an apartment house with 90 other units and know about 100 residents. Some of the apartments are owned as investments and rented to people who often move out before I even learn their names. Some of us bought our apartment as homes – I have lived here for 13 years and expect to be a resident until I am wheeled out on my way to the mortuary. Those of us with similar leanings, meet on Thursday afternoons to share potluck snacks and beverages and get acquainted. Those who come to our regular gatherings become friends; others get acquainted in the laundry room or nod to each other in the elevators.
There are a few new residents who do not survive long enough to make acquaintances. A couple moved into the newly vacant apartment of a longtime resident just last month. The husband died last night, and when the news spread, no one knew their names – only that they had moved into the apartment owned by a long resident who had moved out of town unexpectedly.
I know for sure that a number of the people who have moved out of their apartments have had their plans change in some unanticipated way. Death, illness, accident have all contributed in some way to altering the person’s plan, leading to the title of this column.
I’ve spent many hours planning my future, my money, my life, my next week – and a lot of the time, it worked out. At this point in my life, I’m not even buying green bananas, and I eat chocolate as soon as it comes in the house.
If I don’t anticipate, that other authority will do it for me, and I won’t get to do life as I want. Anyone who knows me also knows that I want to complete my days as I have lived them – MY way!