Moving to Connecticut
I have that sinking feeling in my belly, like I’m in freefall and not quite sure the floor will catch me. It’s not bad, it’s not afraid. It’s…the unknown.
As most of you know, I’m moving to Connecticut in less than a week. Natalie and I bought our first house, pictures up above on a cold, rainy day. The only day I saw it but still was half way through the tour and was jumping up and down. I knew it was what I wanted. Small, built in 1923, wood floor, lots of character home. I get all teary thinking it will always be our ‘First House’ and will really represent planting our feet firmly into adulthood.
I have never lived away more than an hour away from the place I was born. My mom grew up in the same town and we both went to the same high school. My brother never ventured too far either, staying within a 2 hour radius of my tiny family. When I fell in love with Natalie, we both had firm roots in N.Va + DC and both found schools we knew were perfect close to home. But I always knew she wanted to be a Professor and that meant applying to Grad School far far away.
When the Grad Schools starting calling with acceptance, I started to get that sinking feeling. Her top two choices were Emory in Atlanta and Yale in Connecticut. That’s a long way from home I thought, but tried to squeeze the idea of leaving from my brain.
But now it’s here and the boxes around my falling apart rental confirm it’s time to go. I’ve had my ‘last’ dinner with most of my friends. I hugged my mom really tight at our ‘last’ party. Natalie even bought me a GPS so I don’t get lost in our new town.
So as much as this feeling tries to make me want to stay, here, where I have always been, I know Connecticut is my new home. I literally know no one in New Haven. So I’m going to have to put myself out there, make new friends, meet new clients, and begin to scoop up the soil of New Haven to try and make it my own.