Bashert is a Yiddish word that means destiny.
Growing up I heard it used to mean ‘predestined’ spouse or soulmate, but it can also be used to capture the seeming destiny of an incident or friendship.
At its essence bashert is defined as “meant to be.” For me, however, the 3 words don’t convey the full power behind the Yiddish word.
A few days ago I closed on/received the keys to my new condo.
I don’t know I’m excited.
I’m quite certain I’m transition-terrified.
I completely believe it’s bashert.
Allow me to back up a bit.
A little over a year ago I made my neighbor become my friend.
I had plenty of friends I could drive to, but there’s simply something about having PeopleOnYourStreet which makes the challenges of daily living a lot more bearable.
Enter my neighbor (into my life that is. she’d lived here all along).
Enter a friendship whose complexity and depth I never could have predicted.
Unlike many friendships born of proximity ours quickly blossomed (cue movie montage of friendlove)
and seemed bashert.
We’ll come back to her. She’s important later. But first onward to condo-shopping.
Once upon a 4+ months or so the Husband and I decided to separate.
After 20+ years together we’d grown and changed in ways we individually liked, but together we no longer seemed to fit (and that’s all I’ll ever say about that).
Enter Carla Condo shopper (alone. not yet ready to throw realtor in mix).
Enter expensive Austin housing market (not California. still overwhelming).
Enter bashert again in a way I never could have seen coming.
I found a fixer-upper condo. A price I could swing. A few major renovation projects I’d need to complete before moving in.
I hate renovation stuff and basically anything to do with interior decorating. This condo, however, was what I could afford.
I caved, called my realtor and decided to look more seriously (*and* dragged along friends. I need a Lady Posse like that.).
What we saw together was what I’d seen solo. Not much. Nothing great. All requiring work.
Enter bashert in the form of serendipitously stumbled upon 2 bedroom condo.
A place I’d not known was on the market. Swarming with interested buyers. The moment I walked the red brick path to its door I knew I was home.
“It comes as-is,” I overheard the realtor say. “All furniture conveys.”
The Lady Posse and I walked inside and my initial reaction was confirmed: This was home.
The light, the energy, the new-with-tags couch & chair: It was an about-to-be-separated-woman-and-her –striving to be resilient-child’s dream condo.
It was bashert.
And, while there have been bumps in the road to ownership, bashert has only continued and grown.
We are soon moving into a condo filled with beds, couches, dressers, dining room table and chairs.
When I joked to my realtor how I’d love the current owner’s dishes (she left the country the day we closed) the next time I saw the seller she informed me she was leaving me those as well.
(You leave husband and come here with only toothbrush! were her exact words.)
Fantastic light/energy, furniture, dishes, still in our current neighborhood–I couldn’t conceive of an easier transition for the Child or for me.
Which circles me back to the neighborfriend at the start of my story.
A woman whom I spied a few times, concluded we must be friends, and have woven entirely into the fabric of my life.
A woman whom the Child admires and adores.
Enter bashert in the form of her spontaneously deciding to sell her home and buy a condo.
Her absolute dream domicile located we-share-a-wall-right-next-door-to-mine.
I’ve remarked to people this life-shift has felt guided by a force far larger than myself.
It’s time. It’s happening.