I find myself taking so many leaps of faith, small ones, perhaps, but still requiring trust. Most require trust in myself, that I can do this new job, that I will find it fulfilling, that I can do the kind of writing that editors want to pay for. Some require trust in the universe, the system, or in others, that the job will launch successfully and people will read what we write, that someone will trust me with a reporting piece so that I can begin to prove myself with clips, that my new apartment is what the current occupants said it is, that I can manage a few tricky months of moving out, keeping some stuff in storage, moving into a new place, and then, eventually, moving all my stuff into the new place and finding a more permanent roommate. And then there’s trust in other individuals. It turns out that several of my closest friends are moving away from New York this summer, some in only a few weeks (for most, grad school beckons). I could despair at the big hole this might leave in my life here, but I can’t despair: what a waste of energy. I can only enjoy the time I have to spend with them while they’re still here, do my best to stay in touch when they’re away, make certain they know that they always have a couch to crash on when they visit, and trust that new friends will fill that hole, perhaps not in the same way, but that people come and go, and yet I am never alone here. That is, I think, the hardest leap of faith of all.