I realize that I should probably begin this blog with a first post introductory piece of some sort, but everything I’ve begun thus far has sounded forced and I’ve edited and deleted and restarted, and it’s all brought me back to a blank canvas.
So, that being said, if you’re reading this you most likely already know me. You know that I quit my job, said goodbye to St. Pete and moved to Denver not knowing much of what the future held except for the mountains and a city with all the major sports teams. Both of those have remained true, though I’ve discovered that the mountains tend to play peek-a-boo. Some days they look as if they’re 20 feet away, and others they’ll seem to not be there at all. Two months in and I’m still pleasantly surprised to see them in my rearview mirror.
Numerous people have referred to my move and search for a new career as brave or “following my dreams,” and I have yet to become comfortable with those terms. Brave to me is someone who risks their life for someone else, or protects someone valiantly. I wasn’t brave, I was risky. And I didn’t really follow a dream out here, as I’m back in the I-don’t-know-what-I-want-to-be-when-I-grow-up saddle three years postgrad. In all honesty, I wanted to get out of my comfort zone and make myself vulnerable.
After some time away, I think the real reason that I left, is that I love St. Pete. St. Pete is a perfect beach and art filled city with some of my favorite people and things in the world, and I was scared that I was going to start not seeing all the beauty if I stayed. I always thought that I would leave the state for college, but a scholarship took me to FSU, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the four memorable years of college I had there. I would never want to imagine my life without them. Then, I thought I would leave the state post college. But having zero money upon graduation kept me at home, and I landed a great job a few months later that took me all over the world every few days for two-and-a-half years, with cherished stints in St. Pete.
But, when you know, you know. Whether it be the the signs indicating a relationship is meeting it’s end, or anything else in life coming to a close, the time had come for me to say goodbye to my job and my life in the 727, and pull a big girl move across the country. Typically people move for a job, or a person, but I moved for an experience. And thus far? I’ve gotten one.
Has this been easy? Not at all. I’m on an emotional roller coaster half the time and feeling homesick genuinely makes your heart hurt. But through all of the cover letters (there have been a lot of them), job rejections (my ego may be a tad battered and bruised) and loneliness (like I said, I left some amazing people back home), Denver has never felt like the wrong decision.
I love this city.
I love how welcoming it’s people are, I love my random Craigslist roommates that eased my worries I’d end up as a Lifetime movie, I love my neighborhood with it’s historic houses and up-and-coming vibe, I love my random jobs that will make for great stories in a memoir (or later blog post), I love seeing the mountains daily, I love the unreal music scene, I love the endless insanely good food options (hi, Linger), I love everything that I don’t know about the Mile High City just yet.
Even better? I value time so much more. Being able to go to yoga every morning, cook dinner every night, and actually plan for things? Mind blowing to a gal who lived out of a suitcase for the past few years.
So, I guess this turned into an introductory entry after all. More like a journal, which I ensure you won’t be the case from here on out. I’m likely to be all over the place, from recipes to concert reviews to amusing tales of me trying to figure it all out. I set a hefty list of goals and resolutions for 2013, and writing daily was one of them – so here goes nothing. (Which may just be my motto for this year as a whole.)