Karma

Every now and again, something happens that seems so perfect it shakes my conviction there’s no bigger picture in life. Like the rainbow that came out as I cycled home after I was sacked from a job I only realised afterwards I hated, or the chance phone call from an old friend on a black day where I was weighing up what to do with the rest of my life, telling me she was leaving the big smoke to set up a BnB on an island in the middle of the Pacific. It’s as if there’s some kind of divine intervention when things get bleak, that throws new light on a situation, showing how things that seem bad might actually turn out for the best.

This weekend, feeling lonely and cooped up after a week confined to the house, venturing no further than a tiny radius of school, the local coffee shop where Reprobate Kate doles out free therapy with the coffee, the exercise playground, and the climbing wall where Jonah trains; after a week where job leads have dried up and I’ve had more conversations with the dog than with a sentient adult; in which, by Saturday morning, I was in full-on rant mode to Tom about how pissed off and bored I was, how isolated I felt and how frustrated I was with the way things were, something happened to change things. Perhaps it’s the sprouting crocuses amid the smattering of London snowfall. But whatever it is, it’s given me a new lease of life, impelling me to get in touch with old friends, emboldening me to tap up dormant contacts, and clear my lungs on frosty runs around London’s arterial waterways.

Like all changes that feel sudden, it started months ago when my step-sister contacted me out of the blue, on our relaxing but isolated holiday last summer, at a time when I was thinking of ditching the blog, leaving my job and finding something new – I just didn’t know what. Freshly graduated, my step-sister, who I didn’t know all that well, was feeling stifled having returned to our childhood home – different childhoods – I’m more than a decade her senior. She was looking for somewhere to crash in London while she found her feet. Keen to get to know her better, and happy to help out – charity begins at home, or so they say – I offered her mates rates on our spare room, and within a few weeks she had moved in, with a cheffing job up the road.

It wasn’t aways easy, sharing my space with a near stranger. I was used to my home being a haven for myself and my family, but one which increasingly felt like a vacuum sealing me off from the rest of the world. Having her here forced me to reassess how I behaved at home, pushing me back into the marital bedroom, having camped out in the spare for months, citing sleep deprivation and insomnia as reasons for putting space between Tom and me. As it happened, I slept fine in bed with Tom, and being physically closer helped us to address the underlying issues that had really been at stake. Sure, we still had the odd whispered row or even hushed sulkfest, but it’s surprising how having someone else in the house can force you to resolve any issues in a more adult fashion than sometimes.

My sister was no hassle – we barely saw her as her working hours were at odds with ours, and when we did – for cosy Sunday chats or Friday night binges, we kindled a friendship – and a few frustrations – that can only be bo,e we live in London, it really is proper money – like half the mortgage – which, when it boils down to it, would be really stupid not to at least give it a go.

But, having left the details sat on spareroom.com for a month or two,  the only bites were a bit of a weird-looking older guy who wanted to rent the room for cheap as he’d be away every third month, or a guy who thought it might be about time to leave the parental nest aged 40. So we’d rather given up on the idea. After all, with kids in the house, you don’t want someone around with whom you’re going to feel uncomfortable, especially if they are sharing a bathroom with my children, and fitting in with our sometimes colourful family life. I guess it wasn’t surprising that anyone who might add a bit of social value would probably rather live with people their own age.

But then, on Saturday a guy sent me a message asking to view the room – within an hour he arrived. A pleasant youngish Italian, with beautiful English and lovely manners, he needed the room straight away as he was starting a coding course this week. It all rather took us by surprise, on a cold, dead January weekend, and being new to renting to strangers, we were naturally a bit suspicious why he wanted to live with us rather than trendy young things his own age. On investigation, the coding course, Founders & Coders, which happened to be in the next street from our home, turned out to not just be legit, but also rather an exciting opportunity for anyone wanting to learn software development – a free, yes free, four-month course with extremely tough entry criteria and, with its own recruitment partners, a high expectation of employment afterwards, one in which its participants go on to mentor the next generation of coders, in a perfect example of the so-called sharing economy. Given the price of going to university and with two computer geek kids, it’s certainly something to store away in my mind for when it might come in handy in years to come- and perhaps it offers a perspective on a better way to do things than the one we have all become used to.

Given the price of going to university and with two computer geek kids, it’s certainly something to store away in my mind for when it might come in handy in years to come- and perhaps it offers a perspective on a better way to do things than the one we have all become used to. Given the extortion that  university has become, and with two computer geek kids whose futures I have to think about, it’s certainly something to store away in my mind for when it might come in handy. And the way it’s being run perhaps offers a perspective on a better way to do things than the one we have all become used to.

In any case, it turns out we all had more than an interest in coding in common  – he loves dogs, and even territorial Johnny-the-pug seems to like him; he went to the same uni as my sister, knows a few Italian colleagues of Tom,appreciates a clean house – salve to my tendency to notice crumbs and fingerprints –  and enjoys cooking, which is always welcome, when I rarely do.

He moved in the next day. Joining us for a bite to eat, we had much to say to one another and polished off a bottle of wine in the process, leaving me with a Monday morning hangover I’ve not known the like of since, well Christmas. It’s easy to be positive this early on in any relationship, but right now, he seems like the right person to have come along at the right time.  I’ll keep you posted – or perhaps not – if he turns out to be an axe murderer.

But for now, it feels like a change for the good. Inspiration can be found in odd places, and opening your home to strangers can, sometimes, turn up gems. If I was really brave, (and not out of work) I ought to offer bed and board in return for giving the kids a coding crash course – when you take money out of the equation, it’s much easier to be kind. For now, at least, the pressure’s off to find a job right away. And having an open mind about others opens up new opportunities, creating something of a virtuous circle all round.