I lived on campus in my second year of college. Back then, when you did that you placed yourself at the mercy of a housing office who assigned you your roommates. I HATED the prospect of that.

But sometimes, there is a wisdom to life.

At a time when I was trying to stay on on top of school deadlines, college payments with the accompanying business paperwork, work multiple jobs tightly scheduled together – I was coupled with what appeared as pure chaos. Just when I was trying to embody the ulta organized life, synonymous with adulting, I was paired with two hippies who orchestrated living together… with me.

I came home to my apartment one day, to find patterned sheets tacked up on walls, the smell of marijuana mixing with incense in the air, and a somewhat cluttered looking environment that looked like someone’s entire home had been moved into our small apartment. The Grateful Dead on BLAST.

It was an attack on my tightly ordered sensibilities, and in that moment, I wanted nothing to do with them. But I was raised with manners, so I was cordial.

The first roommate wore her blonde hair long, with ultra thin braids wrapped with yarn tucked at various corners for a style. And though we were young twenty something’s, she had a womanly vibe, not the girl-in-grown-up -pose aura like the rest of us. This young woman, who might be raked over today for her full bodied appearance, exuded love for her brand of femininity, Hippie and Dead Head status. It was something I noticed right off, in our first meeting.

Her friend, my other roommate, a thin blonde with a short cut and one braid allowed to remain, emerged at another point. An intellectual and more angsty type, she moved with hard lessons about her. Her joy more affected.

Both wearing clothing in a way, I had never experienced.

Colors and patterns mixed in a way that always looked thrown together, maybe unkept. And for someone who pressed her clothes, and carefully paired items together, this was an attack on my fashion values.

I imagine I walked around with a low key frown all the time, because of the avalanche to the senses this would become. My room became a communal setting with boyfriends visiting and staying over, and friends camping out while floating in and out of our shared spaces. A place where potluck meals and weed brownies were served. Parties held like pop-up events, for the on-campus hippie community.

My stance was to “endure” them like a bad circumstance, practicing manners but avoiding where and how I could.

Till our lives began to collide.

As young women, we had breakups, health diagnosis, heart breaking separations, disappointing professional challenges we were contending with in each other’s presence. So ultimately days happened where my resolve disappeared under the weight of life, and I’d meet a roommate in our shared area. In those moments, you cannot find the distant response to “Hello, how are you?”

So at some point, we ended up talking. Sharing, learning about each other – for real.

It transformed my experience, my approach and eventually how I saw them. I even found myself explaining or defending friends who would stop by our apartment, then later make scathing comments about what they found (or attempt cracking jokes about it).

Those days came and went…

Funny how the heart remembers, reframes, recasts, softens and decorates our experiences imbuing them with affection. I often remember those two women, and how we ended up bonding. How because of our sheer proximity, the natural human inclination to bond won out.

I hope they went on to have great loves, better friendships, and a life time of continued good music.