Trusting the Process: An Untested, Unproven Guide to Moving Across the Country*
 maybe your life will work. most likely it won't at first. but that will give you poetry. |
About two months prior, I had decided that I wanted to quit my job and move my life to the west coast, specifically, Seattle. Three months prior to that, a dating relationship I was in had ended, leaving me sad and free and more sure of myself than I had ever been. Count two more months prior, in January, and I had written up my dreams and goals for 2018, which included "a new job, a new city, or both." When I said goodbye to my parents and set out on August 21 in my little silver Toyota, packed with empty picture frames, snacks, and a peace lily, I wasn't sure of either, but I was determined to try for both.
I realize that it sounded borderline reckless when I talked about the move with friends and colleagues who had not been a part of the decision-making process. Admittedly, this is also because there were several cities in the running and I didn't fully commit to Seattle until about six weeks before I planned to leave, which is somewhat of a a short time to plan a cross-country move and give notice to an employer. But mentally, I had been getting used to the idea for much longer. It was interesting to hear others' reactions to my decision, and I was floored by how many people were supportive, encouraging, and excited for me. I kept a mental tally of all of the "I wish I would have done that when I was younger" comments to keep for the inevitable days of discouragement I knew would come. I did the same when people, mostly women, called me "brave." I drank in that word like I was living in a Cheryl Strayed book, even though I never quite felt like I deserved it. Bold? Yes. I didn't have a job or any stability waiting for me. Confident? Yes. I had only a handful of friends in a 100 mile radius of Seattle. Risky? Yes. The trip was long and I wasn't sure where I would live once I got there. But brave to me insinuates that you know that what you're about to do is going to be hard and unpleasant and painful but you do it anyway because you either have no choice or you know that there is goodness and beauty on the other side and that it's going to be worth it. I, on the other hand, had no idea what I would find on the other side. I only knew that I had to go.
I'm happy to tell you that days two through eleven were significantly better than day one of my roadtrip. In fact, I felt so good after spending some quality time in Marysville with my cutie nieces and nephews, I thought I might just stop there and set up camp for the time being. But I had a soul friend, K, to scoop up in Chicago and a wedding to make it to in Wenatchee, WA to keep me on schedule, so I said another goodbye and kept heading west.
In Chicago, K and I were welcomed for the night by dear friends of hers, and I got my first opportunity to practice something I was trying to grow in as part of this journey: letting go of some of my independence and allowing space for interdependence, asking for help when needed and accepting the hospitality and generosity of others without feeling like I owed something in return. I really leaned into this hard by not only accepting their overwhelming generosity, but also by falling asleep on their couch at 9pm mid-conversation after an evening of laughing and sharing stories and deep-dish pizza (thanks again guys for having that cozy couch and not judging me).
K and I spent the next seven days on straight roads and winding roads and empty roads and beautiful roads, in noisy places and in unbelievably quiet places. We met interesting people and people I hope I never encounter again. We talked and listened and laughed and cried and exhausted all of our spotify playlists. We never knew exactly what each day would bring, but we took them all in stride and usually with a pretty good attitude except when we were hungry. I hope to recount all of those stories in more detail in future posts, but for now (spoiler) we made it to Washington. I dropped K off at the airport to fly home on August 31 and honestly, I'm still processing the journey as much as I'm still settling in to a new city.
There are boxes that I've checked (hiking some mountains, finding an apartment, seeing a seal, etc.) and some that are still on my list. I don't know if living in Seattle is going to fulfill all my expectations or make me more like the person that I want to be or teach me something else entirely, but I have no doubt that it will change me. I'm finding freedom and confidence in doing the things that scare me, and taking note that some far away fears are much more intimidating than up-close fears (e.g., me three months ago thinking about not having a job: what will I do? how will I live? how will I have any money?; me now after not having a full-time job for three months: well this is simple my budget is rent and food and I go jogging because it's free.) I set out with intentions and expectations that I'm not sure I can fully articulate yet. Although I don't want to abandon these expectations, or the part of me that is always seeking to learn more and grow deeper in my understanding of myself and of the world, I have a sense that I need to let go of what has become a sort of checklist of what I'm supposed to be learning by moving across the country in order to fully experience what life has to offer me. Who am I to think that I could have already imagined all the possibilities in front of me? I don't want forced ideas of happiness and success or to box myself into any particular stereotype of who I've imagined becoming. I have a feeling that letting go and learning to trust the process is exactly what I need. And for all the things I think should work out but don't, I'll take Yrsa Daley-Ward's words to heart, and I'll write poetry.
*catch me in 15 years or so and hopefully I can rewrite this post as a tested, proven guide.
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