When I first got to D.C. my life was crazy. I lived 2 hours from work in a tiny little apartment with three other people. I had to leave the house crazy early to beat the traffic only to find myself with two hours to kill. It didn't take long before I got a gym membership to fill the space. (Amazingly, what started as a way to pass the time has turned into a side career as a personal trainer and group fitness instructor. Crazy how that works.)
I remember running on the treadmill or climbing endlessly on the stair climber while watching the sun come up. It was encouraging to know I was up doing something with myself before the sun came up, but also depressing because I was up doing something with myself before the sun came up. (Who does that?)
Living that far from work was draining to say the least. I thought I was being an adult, getting a job, making the necessary sacrifices for a better life. I felt successful, depsite the fact that it sucked. I tore through books that year. Two hours on the train gives you a lot of time to read. I caught up with people on the phone in the car while I drove home from the train station. But I was still commuting four hours a day.
The first six months of my first "real" job were heinous. I was one miserable girl. I was doing excrutiatingly boring work for good money and great benefits a long way from home. Bad combination. The commute, the boredom, and the tight living arrangements were enough to drive me insane. But the promise of my career kept me going. Fortunately the work slowly got better and I finally moved a lot closer to work and got a much bigger house with three amazing girls who would later become my best friends.
I have to make fun of myself for molding so predictably to my new environment. I started wearing heals to work. I still get lattes from Starbucks every morning. I learned to play the part of a city girl. I was doing well.
Despite the improvements, I told myself each year would be my last. I used to put reminders in my Outlook calendar to ask myself "Why the hell are you still here?" at periodic intervals. So depressing. But I stayed, and got promoted, and worked harder, and learned more. All the while dreaming and having fun, meeting amazing people, living and experiencing life.
Don't misunderstand. This has been an amazing experience. The initial six months of learning and doing the "grunt work" on the job were to be expected. It's a great job. I've learned more than I ever thought possible and gained some invaluable experience. And it's D.C. So much to do, so many amazing people. I was fortunate to have a place to live when I first got here. And I'm grateful to have people who cared about me within reach. I grew to love the city.
It's been three years now, short by most standards. But my pre-D.C. life seems like ages ago. I think I've grown up a lot. I've definitely learned a lot and grown as a person. So of course despite my desires, the thought of leaving was bitter sweet. There are so many things here that I haven't experienced. So many places to go and restaurants to try. So much history. So many trails I haven't hiked and streams to be explored. So many people I haven't spent enough time with.
But I've also lost touch with some things along the way. Parts of myself that I'm not ready to let go of. And I want them back. I've stopped dreaming about the present. My dreams are all about the future. I've become much less generous and more unforgiving. I'm less trustful and more skeptical. I miss the kinder, gentler, freer version of myself. I barely even write anymore. I kind of drone through the work week and dread the coming of another Monday. Not ideal.
So the "bitter" in bitter-sweet has definitely faded. But the true turning point was very recent. Until then amidst all the plans to get the hell out of dodge I was sad. The mood was somber.
The other night I walked out of the gym after teaching an unremarkable yoga class. (The same gym where I got my first membership.) I looked at the skyline where I used to watch the sun rise each morning. The same skyline but for a few more high rises, and I realized I was ready to go. No longer am I sad for what I'm leaving behind. I'm ready a slower pace. Less traffic. More trees. I want my dreams back. My hopefullness back. I want to live in the moment.
It sounds like I'm retiring. But hopefully I'm just growing up. Or at least becoming much more myself. The self I know I can be. I'm going to miss everyone dearly, but I can't wait to go.
I'm glad I'm finally ready.
