At 56, I moved into a single-family home with a woman I'd never met. The setup helps me afford my dream city.

Twenty years ago, I accepted a short-term teaching job at a university in Los Angeles.

As a born-and-raised Midwesterner, I hadn’t considered West Coast living, but I was open to the experience.

Though I was there for only four years, I grew to love LA: the natural abundance of wildly diverse landscapes, the creativity of the entertainment industry, and, of course, the fantastic weather.

Family obligations drew me back to my roots, but the City of Angels was lodged in my heart.

Last year, my teaching assignment in my Missouri hometown ended.

My parents were safely situated with the care they needed.

Not long after, my senior dog passed away.

Suddenly, I felt ready to make a change.

Los Angeles, my dream city, is not particularly affordable — but I knew in my gut that it was where I wanted to be.

I came up with some creative solutions to gain a little more financial security, like selling my furniture and car along with my home.

This gave me the freedom not just to make a short-term move, but to try a freelance writing career.

This past fall, I booked a short-term Airbnb in Burbank, a community in the San Fernando Valley just over the hill from my former home in Hollywood.

I found everything I needed locally and mastered the area’s public transportation system.

Meanwhile, I wrote every day, poolside; in the evenings, I watched the sun set over the Verdugo mountains.

The nostalgic scent of night-blooming jasmine convinced me I made the right move, despite the uncertainty of my living situation.

About one month into the rental, I knew it was time to find more permanent housing, but I still wasn’t in the financial position to rent and furnish a place on my own.

While perusing Craigslist one Sunday, I saw a post for a furnished house share in a quiet, well-located corner of Burbank.

The photos were stunning: a 1920s bungalow-style home painted bright blue with green trim.

The single-family home had been renovated to expand the master suite into a studio.

I would later learn that Beth, the owner, was renting out the studio to offset her mortgage.

A yoga instructor and dance professional, she seemed like an ideal housemate: a creative, spiritually-minded person for whom peace is the priority.

We met several times in person to discuss the expectations of this unconventional arrangement, and I fell in love with the home.

She’d transformed the original driveway into a covered porch; the pergola was replete with fragrant jasmine and fuchsia bougainvillea.

My $2,000 rent is all-inclusive, which helps me manage my budget.

Plus, it’s been comforting to have a housemate when working from home in a new location.

At first, I was tentative, not wanting to make a fuss.

Beth, on the other hand, was friendly and gregarious.

She invited me to a holiday block party, and we attended a nearby street festival one evening.

On our walk, I mentioned my need for a stylist.

She told me that her daughter-in-law owns a local salon; Rachel has been cutting my hair ever since.

When I expressed my interest in adopting a cat, Beth was supportive.

In fact, she keeps my cat company when the occasional in-person gig keeps me away for a longer period of time.

Similarly, when Beth leaves town, I water the plants and turn on the porch lights.

The reciprocity of our arrangement has given me a sense of neighborly connection in this familiar, yet new place.

Admittedly, the small size of my living space leaves me a bit crunched occasionally.

At these times, the porch and hammock provide respite.

Although my kitchenette includes a full-sized refrigerator, it doesn’t have an oven, so cooking options are limited.

Always gracious, Beth lets me use her fully-equipped kitchen when I need it.

Living with a stranger at this point in my life was not what I imagined.

Yet it has afforded me the chance to live in my dream city that would otherwise be off-limits.

At some point, I’ll seek something more private, but this setup has been a fortuitous experience.

It’s reminded me that I don’t have to have it all figured out before I take a chance on myself — and that, as the saying goes, strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet.

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