I wish, for the sake of this blog, that I could remember the exact moment I decided to move to Boston. I think it would make for a better, clearer story. However, since it's my story, it only makes sense that there is an underlying tone of ambiguity and impulsiveness. I can't quite remember the exact moment, but I can tell you what led up to it.
As with so many of my story beginnings, I fell in love with a boy. This boy lived in New England (NE). So, I spent several months of my life living out of suitcases, commuting back and forth between NE and Philadelphia. I think all it takes is one summer in the northeast and you're hooked. The ocean. The sunshine. The food. The air. There's something here. Something that makes you lose all your senses. In a good way. After filing for divorce at 27 and getting kicked out of my apartment in Philly (owners foreclosed), I realized that I needed a new start. But I didn't know what that meant exactly. Or, more important, I didn't know where. As I would not recommend anyone reading this blog does, I moved back in with my parents. In Michigan. In the winter. Again, not recommended. I only ask that you don't judge me based solely on this particular decision-making experience. I have a history of nearly impeccable decision-making. This was simply a blemish on an otherwise clean record. Anyways, I spend months in a whirlwind, trying to figure out where on this vast planet I would like to move. Maybe Paris. Maybe San Diego. Maybe Knoxville. Yup, if I could have earned frequent flyer miles based on thoughts alone, I would be able to fly round trip to Australia. Twice.
Okay, so now it's February. On a last attempt to hold something together (in the relationship), I fly to NE to visit the boy for his birthday. After a wonderful visit to Newport, I decide that I want to live in New England. Since I knew that I could never settle down at this point in my life in a small town, the only logical answer, then, was Boston. See - that made total sense!
As in typical "me" fashion, I packed up my car, set up a job interview, and hit the road. 13 hours later I found myself in New Hampshire. Then Maine. Then down to Rhode Island, and back to Massachusetts. Job interview goes incredibly, surprisingly well. Things with boy, not so good. I drive to Philly and fly to Kansas (cousin's wedding). Then back to Philly, and then Rhode Island. The next part of the story will be revealed only when my book is published (this could take a while, as I have yet to write the first sentence). I will tease you this - it involved impulsive hearts, laughing, leaping, rain, music, singing, and Subway. But that ended as quickly as it began, and I'm not okay to talk/write about it yet. Nor do I think I should. During this week, I am offered the job and accept. In 3 weeks I would be in Boston. Permanently.
The next 3 weeks were a whirlwind of packing, traveling, organizing, crying, consoling, and fighting. On April 29, I packed my car and headed east. Alone. I sang. I laughed. I screamed. I was scared, yet excited. Lonely, yet fulfilled. It was incredible. I played the song "Boston" about 35 times on my way out of town. I knew it. I felt it. This was the beginning of something amazing. My life. I was in control of what happened next. And I loved it.
I arrived in Boston on April 30th. I woke up that morning, remembering a dream where my grandmother wrapped her arms around me and held me so tight. I knew in that moment I was not alone. I had a whole cheering section. Everyone is cheering me to victory. I was not scared until I pulled up in front of the apartment I would be living in for the next 2 months. I would be renting a room with 2 guys whom I had never met. All of a sudden I thought to myself: "what the hell are you doing!?!" I entered a room that had the overwhelming scent of cat urine, and almost cried. But, I didn't. And each minute got better. The cat urine smell was taken care of, and I started to unpack. In Boston.
The first night was full of excitement, tears, anxiety, fear, sadness, loneliness...I wished so badly for someone to call and welcome me to Boston. But the phone sat silent (with the exception, of course, of my mother and best friend). I realized, this is my life. This is it. It's good. It's bad. It's full of passion and energy. It's who I am. A Sophisticated Mess.
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