I'm sitting down to write this, cup of coffee in hand, after my morning run. We're expecting a record high of 80 degrees here in Colorado, so I figured I'd get that jog in while it was still in the 50s. Colorado? 80 degrees? March?! I know, I know, my east coast brain isn't quite with it yet either. About a month and a half ago, I made the big move out west. There were a ton of contributing factors, but it boiled down to the fact that living in NYC was wearing on me and I was ready for a change.
For me, NYC was the natural progression after college. It was the place with the highest concentration of design jobs. It was where a good deal of Syracuse grads settled. I had family in the area that I could stay with until I found an apartment. It was basically a no-brainer. And for a while it worked. But it took me a long time to admit that while NYC was a great place to start — it truly was, and I don't regret a second of it — it never felt quite right. So Brian and I started researching where we might want to call home. Somewhere close enough to a city for a good art and design scene, but with mountains nearby for the outdoorsy stuff we enjoy.
On January 31st I took the leap, with A LOT of support from family, friends, and the boyfriend. (Thanks guys!) I think moving is one of those life experiences that I block from my memory as a coping mechanism, because if I remembered how truly stressful it is every time...well it wouldn't be good. To prove this point, I've included an incredibly melodramatic poem by eleven-year-old me. My parents found this hilarious and saved it all these years. Good thing I didn't decide to major in poetry. And while all the boxes still stress me out, I'm getting pretty damn good at packing.
So don't mind the fact that I'm sitting in is a camping chair masquerading as an office chair until I find the one that's just right. (Yes, my back is yelling at me. No, I'm not listening.) Or that my boyfriend's mountain bike plays its own version of musical rooms until we can somehow find a spot for it to live permanently. Or that we bought a kitchen table, decided we didn't like it, and are now building one. Our apartment looks like a wood shop. We're pretty far from settled but I can't say that I mind. Has it been a little rocky at times? Without a doubt. But has it been worth it? Absolutely. It feels more like home every day.
PS - More pics coming soon, because the view ain't too shabby either.