This suddenly feels like a bad f*cking idea

I like to say that nine years ago I could have never predicted that I'd turn out to be "modern orthodox," however I know the truth is otherwise. That if someone would have let me peek at my future amidst hits of ecstasy, I would've known this to be true. That eventually, somewhere along my life's graph, I would find meaning in the mundane; open my heart to belief; that one day I would find G-d, whether at that moment in time or 20 years from then, I knew it would happen; I could see it coming.

So why then, 9 years down the line, when I'm the girl who bares cleavage while making brachot, would I willingly enter a living arrangement with more potential difficulties than ease? Maybe it makes sense within the confusion, as I never seem to go for the easy choices, for the decisions that always follow logic. No, instead I go against the grain. Throw logic to the wind and tell G-d in defiance that I'll make it work, as if He has no choice in what will happen. But it's too late now. No turning back. No matter what, no matter how cyclical life becomes. It always seems a lost job is paired with a new apartment. Change your makom and you change your mazal, but is this any better? Time will tell.

So now I'm in the market for a bearded man who I can trust. Who will come bearing a blow torch and secrets of the Torah. Who will help make my home as Holy as it can be in the moment. It's funny how this whole time I was more concerned about kashering the kitchen than the size of my bedroom; toveling dishes over living room decor. And of course immediately after signing my soul to the devil all thoughts turn to Israel, and my heart has never experienced such hurt as seeing photos for the first time of a friend's ripening belly, round and ready to raise the future. These things, they happen. Life happens. Without caution. No stopping it now so I must go with the flow as cliched as I may become. There was another ending but then I got tired.