a unique ordinary occurrence
I am not the first person to quit my job and start over. I’m not the first person to put all of my belongings into storage. I’m not the first person to bounce from room to room, apartment to apartment, state to state. I’m not even the first one to blog about it, in fact I might be somewhere towards the end. My journey is not that different than countless others who have found themselves at a life crossroads. In today’s world I’ve found a lot of people like myself, a lot of people who asked questions about the meaning of life and instead of waiting for an answer, went out and became the answer. I could say I write about my journey because I’m hoping it resonates with someone. I could say I write because I hope to change at least one life. While this is all true, the reality is this – my journey isn’t unique except for one small thing – I don’t write this for others. I write this for me.
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4 states. 3 time zones. 2 years. 1 grand adventure in a life experiment of connection and curiosity. I once again have an apartment. I once again am living with a boyfriend. If someone had asked the broken girl 3 years ago if this is where she would end up, if this is what she would be doing, who she would be doing it with, she would have looked up at you through watery filled eyes and tried to muster a smile that never came. Breakups are hard and sad. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to wrap my head around the notion that two people can be best friends and end up breaking the other one. It’s a strange phenomenon of the heart and the head going to war. But here I am – trying again.
I spent the last year in San Francisco living with strangers, all of them men. I didn’t do this on purpose, it was a universe thing. One guy was a messy hoarder who made a ton of money thanks to the tech industry – but his eyes were sad; his story ran deeper than I would ever get to know. The next was an OCD neat freak, he had decent money thanks to an entrepreneurial spirit – but single and 40 he wanted a partner, but just couldn’t quite get unstuck in his ways. The last few were broke and just trying to make it – stressed eyes and long days. Everyone had a story, most I would never get to know, but all I would learn something from.
When I left Dallas everyone knew my story, so I ran away to Ohio where no one did. Two extremes. Zero degree of happiness. So I set about to create my own middle – this blog. I wrote so I didn’t feel so alone. I wrote so I could collect the thoughts in my hamster wheel brain and see if they all amounted to something, something worth hanging onto. I found they did, and eventually I found my way out.
I set out on a journey one year ago to try and find more people like myself – more people who fought their way through to get to the other side, more people who asked questions and instead of waiting for the answer, went out and lived it. My current job is full of coworkers who all have a story, some are incredibly sad, some are inspiring, some are funny or just plain fucking strange, and some I’ll never even know. But my roommate training this last year taught me something invaluable. Sometimes it isn’t about asking questions, sometimes it isn’t about trying to figure the other person out. Sometimes at the very least it’s about learning to coexist and at the very best it’s about learning to coexist in a way that can make each person better.
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4 states. 3 time zones. 2 years. One journey to live the answer to one very important question. If tomorrow was a gift I never received, would today be enough?
I set out to surround myself with people living the answer to my question. My boyfriend is one of those people. So here I am. Trying again. New city. New apartment. New job. New person. I have no idea what the future holds and I’m okay with that. If I’m lucky I’m only 1/3 of the way through my story. If I’m lucky there is still so much more ahead. At times it has been hard – snot flailing, sobbing uncontrollably, can’t breathe hard. I often joke that when I hit rock bottom I’m so stubborn I dug a few layers deeper just to make sure I was really there. It hasn’t always been interesting, it hasn’t always been inspiring or anything worth talking about, but it has always been mine. So perhaps my journey is unique after all. And perhaps I lied. I do write in hopes that some part of my story resonates with someone else. Once upon a time, not too long ago I desperately needed empathy. Less questions, more understanding. Less judgement, more compassion. Less fear, more connection. Everyone has a story. Learn to coexist with it. Learn to find a way to make each person better.
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4 states. 3 time zones. 2 years.
This is my story. This is my journey. This is my home.