Ever present is the threat of progress – or complete lack thereof – sitting at her desk it feels static, stagnant. The world around her changes, her family grows and shrinks: people die and others bore.
I’m nervous to go and start over, but I know it’s time to leave.
I grew up in the country. I always wanted to live in a city. I have and it has been enjoyable and I spend time wavering if I want to stay or if I want to go on some days, but I fall back to my heart telling me it’s time to go. It is time to move on. It is time for a new phase. At some point, I need to put my light on.
I feel like when I go, I’m transitioning to an adult (-ish; I’ll always buy shirts with a panda holding a heart). This city has been my playground. My time to have my light off; no one to answer to but me; to date a guy I knew I’d never end up with; to fool around with boys I’d never have any interest in; and to sit in cabs with young foreign drivers for hours until the cops come accuse me of prostitution. (Please, I’d have a much nicer car.) My family moves along without me and I continue to collect my stories, unsure of when I want to stop, but aware that I am not willing to set up shop in DC. Aware that my husband (assuming he exists) would never be found here; and aware that while this city is fun to play in, it’s no place to grow
It has both fulfilled and drained me. It has given me stories of romance, intrigue and horror. I love balance, I seek it, and within the confines of the city I find myself, at times, balanced internally and missing the beauty of nature juxtaposed with the manmade; and other times enjoying the set while wavering between independence and a desire to love again. I want the combination of city and country. I want the balance of beauty and honor. I want to find both love and independence. I want a job that pays the bills and fuels my passion(s). I want to be a vagabond and a rooted homebody.
I plan to move to Nashville. I’m not sure why. The first time I visited nearly two years ago, I felt a pull; a pull I’d never experienced before. I stayed here because of my nervous nature and my uncertainty that I was finished in my playground. I’m still not sure I’m done, but I know it’s time to leave. If I have learned anything from this difficult year, it is to trust my gut, instinct, intuition and heart – it has not been wrong. Not once. Even ignored, or excused, or argued against my mind, it hasn’t missed a beat and, in hindsight, has been correct every time. I have to go because it’s time to listen. My life isn’t here. It’s somewhere else happening without me now. I wanted this time in my life to be selfish and collect my stories. I found the strength to stop a love story gone awry to do just that. But won’t stop collecting myself stories; I’ll keep shoveling them up and putting them in my proverbial pockets. I found the strength to live alone, now the scene requires change. No one wants to look at the same set for an entire play.
I moved here. I graduated with an MA. I broke up with my boyfriend. I moved in with a stranger; then three strangers. I made mistakes. I made friends. I collected stories. I have survived with just me. I learned a lot: About work; about life; about myself. I have grown. I have strengthened. Any more time and I fear I’ll be draining the well. I have loved it here; I have. It has been all I have wanted – all the good and bad and intriguing and horrific. And I’m nervous to go and start over, but I know it’s time to leave. With seven months to go, let the (terrifying) preparations begin…