When you have three weeks’ notice to pack up your things and leave behind the life you spent two and a half years building from scratch, a lot of emotions bubble to the surface.
I’ve been in DC for thirteen days and I feel like I have a bit of perspective on said emotions. Mostly it’s been relief. Relief that I found a new adventure, relief that I landed in a city that I love, relief that it was relatively painless and inexpensive to fulfill my desire for change.
The sadness and regret trickle in too, of course. Sadness at leaving behind some amazing people in Atlanta. Regret that I didn’t have more time with others.
Uncertainty and insecurity about finding my place in a new environment and proving myself in this office.
Eagerness to experience it all and jump right in and find my new routines and grooves.
These thirteen days have been full of brunches and new yoga studios and logistical challenges and figuring out the best route to work and unpacking and settling in and a surprisingly minimal amount of tears.
(And the tears can mostly be blamed on a certain 8-pound ball of meowing fur who decided it would be a good idea to find an impossibly secret hiding spot to camp out in for an entire weekend, thereby inducing an off-the-charts meltdown on my behalf and resulting in at least a week shaved off my life expectancy.)
(Cats are assholes.)
I miss my people down south, but I know I have people up here too and I am indescribably thrilled to throw out my recent hermit-like ways and absorb everything this city has to offer me. It’s springtime and the cherry blossoms have bloomed and the sun keeps shining and everyone is emerging from their winter hibernation and I couldn’t have planned a better time to replant my roots than now.
It’s going to be fun. You should come visit.