One month ago, after spending 30 hours in the car together and an additional four days in LA, my family and I were separated for the foreseeable future and for the first time, I faced my new home alone. I love my family with every piece of my soul and I miss them every day but the emotion I felt initially waking up that Wednesday morning was relief. I felt relief for a few different reasons and the first being that I actually moved. I did it! The several weeks of anxiety and sadness and doubt leading up to this day foreshadowed an even worse anxiety and sadness and doubt, or so I thought. Waking up that Wednesday, it pleasantly surprised me to just feel so much lighter, excited, and optimistic. I also felt relief that morning because well, hosting people for a few days can be somewhat exhausting right? Hosting people in a city that you yourself haven’t visited in 5 years is a different challenge. I felt this pressure to try to dazzle my family and reassure them that this place is as amazing as I’ve been saying since I’d announced my move. This pressure was entirely self-inflicted and my family has been nothing short of supportive throughout this whole journey but the pressure was there nonetheless. With that being said, I can’t deny feeling a small sense of relief upon their departure and that opportunity had arised to figure some things out on my own and not worrying about impressing anyone except for myself was important.
One month in and I am happy to report that I’ve had several ups. I found some great hiking spots, I’ve had some amazing food, I’ve connected with family I haven’t seen in too long, and I’ve gotten to be a tourist on my own agenda. With all of these ups definitely come some downs and transparently, today is one of them. No, I didn’t get a ridiculous parking ticket (today). No, I didn’t wake up so terribly hungover (yet). Today, I miss people. I miss friends. I miss family. I miss how easy it is to knock on my sister’s door and make a plan to walk to a trendy bar down the street. I miss how easy it is to call up my friends to get together and split 4 bottles of wine. I miss how easy it is to drive to my parents house for a home cooked meal.
One month in and it’s a Saturday. On what I would call my normal Saturday, I would be going out, having drinks, and dancing. On this Saturday, for the sixth night in a row, and like most of my other Saturdays, I am sitting in my room alone, feeling stuck, drinking a white claw, and writing because I’m trying to avoid binge watching yet another tv show. Now, I would like to say that I’m not wallowing in self pity, but I suppose that I am. This is the part of moving away that I knew would be the toughest. I’m proud that I’ve been able to avoid this feeling up to this point but it has now become a difficult reality. I know this is not a lasting situation and that the longer I’m here, the more people I will meet but that doesn’t make the first day of feeling this isolation any easier. One month in and I’m coping by allowing myself to feel my feelings and put them to “paper” and share with readers that I don’t have in hopes of a brighter tomorrow.
One month and one day in, I’ll be much more optimistic because it will be a Sunday.