Moving Day

I wrote out these thoughts as I packed the last remnants of my physical life in Boston. As I watched my former roommates and friends move to new residences, I culled unnecessary belongings and forced my remaining possessions into my Honda Fit in preparation for my cross-country move. I have since said goodbye to Boston, and am nearing the end of my stop-over in Boulder, CO before driving the rest of the way to Berkeley, CA in time to start my internship on the 15th of September. I have more to say in review of my summer as well as about the opportunities I'm pursing in California. But, for now, I'll post my moving day thoughts and the promise of more to come:

September is a time of change - the city streets fill with orange and white Uhaul trucks, bringing people away from homes they know into new prospects and possibilities. Girls in ripped jean shorts sport messy pony tails as they wipe sweat from their brows, tanned from the summer sun. Boys in cargo pants and ratty t-shirts lift and push and pull furniture too large and too heavy for the last breaths of hot summer air. Students strut around in new school uniforms, from skinny jeans and hipster glasses to pleated, well-ironed and unseasonal wool. The air is thick with goodbyes followed by hellos, reunions, departures, direction. Everyone headed somewhere, beginning the transitions of fall in preparation for the harsh, cold and settled nature of winter.

For now, my direction is West, following the seemingly never-ending sunsets as I drive to my new home. I'm bracing myself for temperate weather, for forming, out of the rambling of my summer, a daily routine, for languid weekend afternoons in the park, for the satisfaction brought only by exhaustion at the end of a long and successful day in the office. And I couldn't be more excited.

Yet I already miss the falls I've known in New England. I miss the earthy smells that come from the fallen leaves, the colors that litter the landscape, draped over beautiful, stylish women, emanating from the late afternoon sun, reflecting off the lush full trees as they begin their seasonal changes. I miss the opportunities of fall, like the chance of sun, appreciated like a rare gem amidst the ever-cooling days. I miss the chill in the mornings, the feel of hot coffee on cool lips; the fabrics, chunky, soft and reassuring against the bare, bronzed flesh of summer. I miss apple cider, pumpkin pie, the excited entry into the season of family and settled, stable love. I miss all the people I haven't yet left behind that serve as the pillars of my emotional landscape.

I even miss the way fall makes me uneasy, like the worst is yet to come, and even the possibility that the best is, too. Like so much is already done and behind me, but so much is left to accomplish. I miss the discordance of turning an overly bright, thin-fabricked summer wardrobe to the colors and weight of autumn. I miss the frenetic rush to milk each moment out of the changing seasons. I miss the knowledge, possible only in hindsight, of how all these uncertain falls of my past resolved and of the love, warmth and success they harbored.

But now I go West, uncertain, yet again, of what this season brings and even where this winter will find me. I am, however, full - of prospects, of emotions, of the teary goodbyes and excited hellos that have yet to be said, and, as I take the final look over my erstwhile home, full of the all the possibilities, direction and changes of fall and all it means to me.

View of the Flatirons from Boulder, CO:

Bittersweet Goodbyes

I have a weird confession: I get my hair cut far (and I do mean far) less frequently than I believe is recommended by hair stylists and most sane people alike. Perhaps this dates back to the time I had my bangs cut in three uneven, too-short chunks, prompting me to dye my hair bright red and pretend it was edgy and intentional (I fooled no one). Or maybe the time I worked at a salon, an experience I ended with tri-color chin-length hair that wouldn't have even looked good on a fashion model. Perhaps it's rooted in a deference to other spending priorities (see: whiskey, fresh produce, plane tickets). Or maybe it is simply a reflection of a more metaphor-friendly hesitance to embrace change.

I officially leave Boston one week from today. And, although my hair still looks terrible, my life in Boston that led me in pursuit of new adventures looks more and more wonderful every day.

It's not that I'm second-guessing my decision to go, I think I'm just appreciating the beauty of this life with an abandon I really only allowed myself once I made the decision to leave it. I have found so much to love here. I have a routine I enjoy, a job I've learned how to do well, friends I love, a house that feels right to come back to after any time spent away. I've found lovely spots to hike, a running route I begrudgingly enjoy (or at least know), I am learning to cook and I pack my lunch each night and make coffee every morning. I'm surrounded by music and musicians who, despite their incredible talent, tolerate my plunking attempts at playing basic chords. I can finally drive around without blind deference to my GPS. I have made, of Boston, a home.

But I'm not leaving because I wasn't happy here. I'm leaving because I want to make myself completely available to learn more about others, communicate more with myself, and eek out my place in this big world, And, of course, enjoy some adventures along the way. This is about shaking up the routines I've come to love and making myself open to be grabbed by passion as I figure out what comes next.

Back to my coiffure confession: I am reminded that, whatever the cause of my initial hesitation to schedule that stupid appointment, more difficult still are the days that lead up to it. I manage to have myself convinced, as the big moment rapidly approaches, that my hair looks better and better every day. Only through taking the necessary step to eradicate them am I able to overlook those things I sought to change. From dead ends and lifeless shape to the realization that my job was no longer serving to enable my growth and I lacked a sense of what direction to pursue next, I choose change for a reason. But knowing I need a change should neither undermine nor glorify what I've had. Instead, I take the next step, emboldened and strengthened by all I have learned and all that I love that has served not only to grow me but also to prepare me for wherever my path next leads.

So I'm leaving yet another home, and one that I love dearly, but I'm not closing the door behind me. I don't know where I will end up in just a few short months (which may render my departure more of a sojourn), or with what goals, priorities and dreams. But today, with one week left to my first flight and my bright, beautiful room dismantled into messy piles and suitcases, I'm taking a moment to simply revel in the beauty of this life and the people in it who have filled my days with love, laughter, whiskey and music, who have made me strong enough to know I need to go and also made me sad to say goodbye.