Leaving – May 4, 2023

Today, I woke up in my first apartment for the last time.

It’s a gray day in western Pennsylvania. The Amish are driving past in their buggies, and I can hear the clop-clop-clopping of hooves on the pavement.

My nose is stuffy from the sheer amount of dust I’ve kicked up over the last few days. Everything is in a box or a vacuum bag or is ready to be loaded into the back of my dad’s truck next week.

Tomorrow, at 3:30 in the morning, my friend Randalyn and I will leave for Colorado.

Being in the northeast never stopped feeling like a vacation, despite having been here for ten months. And I’m not talking about a relaxing beach trip with nothing to do and nowhere to be. I mean “vacation” in the purest form of the word—as a departure from my real life.

Of course, in retrospect, all of this was real.

It was real when I moved in on July 5th with little more than a closet-full of clothes and a 15-year-old crockpot. It was real when my 23rd birthday was followed by my mom’s admission to a hospital in eastern PA. And her passing in that same hospital a few months later was so real that it changed my worldview.

My life didn’t stop just because I moved somewhere that I never planned to live. In fact, it feels like it’s just getting started.

But this time, I’m starting over in the state I call home.

I will be reunited with my books, which have been sitting in storage since July. I have already begun stocking up on the things I’ve never needed before, things my current roommates have been kind enough to share with me all these months.

Most importantly, I will be reunited with my friends and, shortly after that, my family.

So, in a way, it’s not really “starting over,” is it? It’s returning.

New space, new roommate, new sense of purpose.

But none of those will nullify the experiences of these last ten months or what they signify.

I don’t know how it will feel to drive on my own streets or shop at my own stores or sleep under my own sky. I don’t know how it will feel to cook in a new kitchen or live with a new person or sit by the pool with a community of people I don’t know (yet).

But I know love is within me and the Universe supports me and we never truly die.

And I’m confident that for now, that’s all I need to know.

Once more from a tiny town in western PA—

Good morning, friends. I hope today is good to you.

Returning – May 29, 2023

Today, I woke up in my new apartment for the 23rd time.

It’s a sunny day in southern Colorado. It usually is—that always-blue sky rarely fails. I can hear the garbage truck outside, which is weird since it’s a holiday.

This morning, I made baked oatmeal, followed by my mom’s no-bake granola. There’s a whole story that goes with the granola, but I’ll save it for another time. Suffice it to say that I’ve been snacking on it for hours.

I’ve done a lot of walking since I got back. I swear, every time I look at the mountains, they get clearer and prettier. They don’t have a bad side. I see them, and my heart swells with love and gratitude.

When I got here on May 6th, I was home. I knew it.

Once a week, I make a trip to Sprouts and remember how my mom and I used to shop there every Wednesday afternoon. Plastic bags now come with a fee, so I try to remember to bring my reusable totes inside. Returning, as it happens, is synonymous with embracing change.

It’s been wonderful and overwhelming to see my people again. I feel like I’ve been living in the twilight zone for a year. Returning home involves reintegrating into my social life, which is something I already have to work on as an introvert and a homebody. But when I make the effort to go out, it’s always worth it. The hugs and catch-up conversations and connection are worth it.

I sleep so soundly here. Like my whole system knows I’m back where I belong.

As Einstein put it, “The more I learn, the more I realize how much I don’t know.” But I do know this—

Everything is always working out for us; we are always supported, championed, and deeply loved.

Goodnight, friends. May you see the evidence of your biggest dreams coming true.