Pod person

Hi. My name’s Jennifer, and I live in a pod.

The pod lands in Brooklyn.

Life in the pod.

That’s got a nice ring, doesn’t it?
When I was at the Iowa State Fair this year and businesses wanted to collect my address for direct mail I said, “I can’t give you my address. I live in a pod!”
This didn’t go over so well. Needless to say, I will not be receiving brochures about financing my new Ford truck or adding a swimming pool to my backyard.

(Note to the pod company: Per the terms of agreement, I don’t actually live in the pod. There are three things you can’t put in the pod: live creatures, flammable material, and gold bouillon. Good thing I found alternate living arrangements at my mom’s house, got rid of my sterno, and buried my gold bouillon—X marks the spot.)

Here’s what really happened: I decided, after nearly 10 years in NYC, it was time to go. At first I just meant to relocate to a new city, but in between here and there I’m having an adventure. I packed up my pod, visited my mom and her dog for a few weeks, and then flew halfway around the world to spend three months volunteering in Cambodia.

I’m writing this from my hotel room in Chiang Mai, Thailand, where volunteer orientation begins in a couple hours. Since it’s the beginning of September, I feel like I’ve just arrived at college—but orientation in Thailand is a lot more exciting than orientation in the field house.

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