So I shouldn’t be blogging while at work, but meh - why the eff not. As many of you already know - I plan on moving to New York come hell or highwater (or job offer) June/July-ish. There is still a lot up in the air: health insurance, place to live, job, my dog, my STUFF, everything. I am positive though. The change will be nice. I have been conversing with some people looking for potential roommates, but I cannot fly out to check them out or converse with them until the last weekend of May (memorial day weekend) so that might end up being pushed back until first weekend of June. Then it’s the letter of resignation, the packing, the driving, the frightening possibility of the big, bad city and little ol’ me.
Some things people don’t know about me (or maybe they do) - but I am a complete momma’s boy. She does my laundry, makes me dinner (and sometimes lunch), she takes care of me. Now I’m not reliant on her, I have been paying my own bills since I was 19-20 years old. My car is paid off, my credit card debt is zero, I owe my mom quite a bit for school but we already came to an agreement about that so she will see money down the road. But I have always lived at home.
Now it’s not that I can’t cook, or do laundry, or clean, or what not - because I have done all those things, and do them well. It’s just - I’ve never HAD to do them. If I was ever tired or coming home late from work, I could call my mom and ask if there is dinner ready. I can’t do that anymore. It’s time to buck up - and change my life.
Who knows what will happen when I make the move finally. My dog, poor Ike, will have to be left behind for a time, until I can sustain myself financially out there, and eventually get a place of my own to share. Most of my things (movies, books, games) will be left behind. I’ll be bringing my electronics (laptop, iPad, iPhone, TV and Blu-Ray player, maybe a few flicks) clothes, towels and provisions, medicine, my mini-fridge, pillows, and portfolio things. That’s it. A whole house full of my things, will be reduced down to a single room of someone else’s apartment for quite some time.
It’s scary. I won’t lie and say I’m not scared to death. But I am also exhilarated. I know this will change me as a person. It will be a good change. One that helps define me in my third decade as a human on this earth.
If I crash and burn, and have to move home (which is a possibility) so be it - I get to say I lived in the greatest city in the world for a short time - and I got over my fears. Here’s to me.
Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better? But because I knew you I have been changed for good.
