hi, I did it.
As I sit on my bed in a new apartment 2,365 miles away from my last apartment, I’m reminded how silly this life is. A month ago, I was living my normal life (albeit stressing about this impending move), but ultimately unchanged in my day-to-day routine. And now, as a consequence of my own decisions, I am untethered from that old reality and staring out my bedroom window as fog covers the top third of the Golden Gate Bridge. I’ve always been an idealist, a wonderer, a dreamer of big plans (who often overlooks the smaller details), but I still am in awe of myself for making the change I’ve been thinking and talking about for the last seven years. There are so many platitudes out there about change being good, but despite making the biggest change I’ve ever made, I’m still clinging tightly to my old life. I haven’t let summer slip away (even though today’s forecast won’t go above 61 degrees), I only want to talk to my friends from back home (who has the energy to meet new people these days anyway?), I spend the majority of my time with the door shut and Greta an arm’s length away (largely ignoring the two roommates and one dog I now live with thanks to a posting I found on Craigslist). I did it, and yet, now I don’t know what I’m doing.
Everything feels new and overwhelming and I know that this move was a good thing for me and yet all I can see right now are the things I miss. At some point, I will be myself again. I will make plans and discuss tarot readings over glasses of prosecco and excitedly emerge from my room with eyeshadow on my lids and the thin strap of a purse slung over my shoulder. I will know people and meet them for dinner and gasp over a text that no, I truly can’t believe he would send that to you.
For now though, I am soft. I am vulnerable and a little sad. I spend full days at my sister’s apartment allowing an 8 month old to dictate my social calendar. I ride the bus there and ride the bus back, taking in everything and nothing at all times. I go for runs and try not to get shin splints on the hills and warn a woman walking her dog about four raccoons who crossed my path two houses back. I shop for groceries and do my laundry and take the recycling down to the basement. I blissfully nap on the bed that I just acquired three days ago after missing the first delivery attempt by Costco of my mattress. I talk a bit more each day with my roommates. I come up with plans and slowly type them out on one blank document after another.
Little by little, I am doing it.
