Last year I signed up to audit (for free) an art class at Hunter College. As a lifelong learner, I couldn’t resist. The registrar pointed me to an opening in a course called Everything is Personal (last spring’s newsletter), and I allowed myself to be guided—trusting the process a bit further.

It turned out to be a photography class. Not exactly my strong suit, but one I was willing to explore. My term project became photographing the residents in my Washington Heights co-op building, few of whom I knew despite having lived there for nearly ten years.

By semester’s end, I had shot more than two dozen sessions with neighbors, establishing relationships and friendships along the way.

Soon after, I headed up the building’s Social Committee, helping host “the best” holiday party in years, followed by a huge send-off for our beloved, retiring superintendent a few months later.

Why tell you this?

Because I’ve recently taken another intuitive leap: I moved to a senior community in New Jersey.

As an inveterate visioner, I’ve chosen NOT to set goals for how this transition should be. Truthfully, I haven’t even imagined what is still possible in this eighth decade on earth. I am relying on the intuition that got me to cross the Hudson.

Again, I have no outcome in mind but have faith in accepting what develops from this choice. If I adopt the same attitude and steps as I did last year at Hunter, similar unexpected and deeply rewarding outcomes will emerge—I believe.

I could focus on the packing up and unpacking, the decorating choices, and being the ‘new girl’ in town. But I see this transition more as a curation in progress. I am open to whatever surprises await me.

There’s a licensed clinical social worker on staff who is free to the population here. When she was introduced at the New Neighbors session I attended, I felt tears welling up. Even eagerly anticipated changes stir things up. I’ve already had two valuable sessions with her.  Her advice was simple:

“Raise your hand. Let yourself be known.”

Soon after our first session, at a panel celebrating Women’s HerStory Month, we listened to remarkable narratives from three residents and two staff members. The moderator then asked if anyone in the audience wanted to share a pivotal moment in their career.

Mine was the only hand that went up.

Thanks to my years in Toastmasters, I stood and told the story of how I became an art major (details another time). Afterwards, several women approached me with invitations for shared meals and visits.

Mission accomplished! But, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither is acclimating to a brand new community. So I keep rinsing and repeating.

I’m swimming every other day, attending cardio/core and qigong classes, attending art sessions, and a writers’ group. The calendar here is rich in offerings.

After fourteen years not owning a car in Manhattan, my daughter generously loaned me hers. I even hired a driving instructor for a refresher. On my first solo outing I had to FaceTime my eldest for a lesson on how to shift out of park.

Cars have changed!

My apartment is about 90% complete. My interior designer insists that the art hanging wait until the wallpaper, drapes and furniture are in place.

“You don’t select the jewelry before the outfit is complete,” she recommends.

I recognize good advice when I hear it and have slowed down the process.

As always, I have help: a TaskRabbit to hang my Playbills, contractors to paint and paper, family inviting me to concerts and practices, staff members who are endlessly kind, and friends checking in from afar.

When I moved to New Jersey, I did more than cross a river.

I crossed into a new chapter—one I’m still creating.

I don’t know exactly what’s next. But I do know that when I live with trust, the unexpected often becomes the very thing that make me truly happy.

I even curated which Playbills to feature on my kitchen wall! Click here to watch the short video.