Moving in the Right Direction

Drew just left. (Boo-hoo). The only upside is that this is the last good-bye we'll ever make! Well, I shouldn't say ever--one never knows what life has in store...and I do suppose we'll still have long weekends apart and occasional separate vactions and the like, but as far as our long-distance relationship goes, this is it--the final weekend visit!!  The next time I see Drew--in less than three weeks--he'll be flying in to help me finish up packing, send my stuff off with the movers, and then load the cats onto a plane for our new home in New York.  In just 20 days, we'll go from long distance to short distance...very short distance.

I'll be staying with Drew when I first get to town--keeping my stuff in storage here in Chicago and "sending for it" once I have a job and am a bit more settled in NYC. People keep asking if I'll be getting my own place once I find a job and when I say, "yes," half the people say, "oh, good--smart girl," and the other half say, "but why?" I told Drew about this and he says when he has this same discussion with people, everyone just answers with the latter. The truth is, of course, that it's no one's business, really, and that for as much as I repect friends' and family's advice and insight, people just pretty much project their own stuff on everyone else with little reference to the advisee. Ask people why they think we should or shouldn't live together right off the bat, and chances are their opinion--and they will have an opinion--will be based on a past relationship of their own or someone close to them. Rarely is it based on my relationship and what's between Drew and me. And that's fine...it's just something I have to get used to in being part of a couple--what everything else thinks is right for us.
All this is to say: "Oh My God--I'm gonna be living with a boy again!!!"

On my last visit to New York, I asked Drew to please start cleaning out his closets and drawers and stuff so there'd be room for my shirts and skirts and shoes and what not. Even if I'm there for just a couple of months, there's got to be some space for my shoes, you know. He assures me he's made room, and I have no choice but to believe him--especially since I've now sent two suitcases full of stuff and I assume he's putting my things somewhere other than the floor. Right??

(Oh my God--I'm gonna be living with a boy again!!)

Anyway, it was so nice having Drew here for my birthday weekend--it was a lovely one, indeed, full of chocolate crepes, champagne, plenty of phone calls and visits from friends, indulgent meals, fabulous gifts, bike rides, and lakefront daydreaming. I feel just a wee-bit spoiled after it, and still have a cake celebration at a friend's house this evening and my going away party next weekend to look forward to. There's nothing like leaving town on the heels of a birthday to bring out the well-wishers and plans for celebratory drinks and last dinners and all that jazz. I do feel loved, if not just a little sad to be leaving all these gorgeous friends o' mine to a city where I can count the number of aquaintances on about one and a half hands. And that's including the cab driver from my last visit who gave me his card when I tipped him about 40% on account of him getting me to the airport through a big-ass parade in midtown.

I do feel like I'm brimming over with emotion lately. In this last week, I've started organzing files and such and part of that involves going through these boxes of old photos and cards and letters (because maybe it's time to get rid of those old birthday cards from 1996?). In the evenings after work, I've been spending an hour or so reading these notes from people I haven't seen or heard of in years (which means no time for exercise, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices in life). I've also been poring over letters from close friends and family sent in my early days of college. One night, I invited Katy over and we laughed at some letters she sent when we were still teenagers. I found a 29-page letter from my mom that she mailed my first week of college--over 13 years ago, and of the 28 pages, 27 1/2 were questions she wanted answered immediately and in "the order they were asked," she wrote, including how many feet the bathroom was from my dorm room. I'm not sure who had the tougher transition when I moved from Germany to the states for school where I didn't know a soul--me or my endearingly overbearing mother. (She's since relaxed some--phone calls only last two hours now and emails are often less that ten paragraphs!)

I've moved before--obviously. I had 5 international moves through 3 different countries, and about a dozen different homes before I finished high school, so moving is like in my DNA or something. But this move feels different--more permanent somehow, like more of a life change, a marker of time passing--of moving from one life stage to another. But I'm probably just being overly dramatic. As usual.

At any rate, I found a four-leaf clover today. Drew and I were sitting at the lakefront--probably our last visit there together...maybe ever--and I suddenly got the itch to clover-hunt. It took about five minutes and I found it. The last time I found a 4-leaf clover was over a year ago--in May...the month I met Drew and the summer I finished grad school and really felt a transition starting. I found two that day, actually, just seconds apart. I'd like to think they're all good signs--that maybe, after all this time and countless mis-steps, I'm finally moving in the right direction.

Comments

[Maggie]

You don't know me, and most advice is for shit--but I have to say you should be happy to hold on to your independence as long as you can. You're taking a huge step that will surely reap great benefits for you, and getting your own place eventually sounds like a great idea to me. Good luck on the move!

[Nick]

How true Wendy, about other people's advice on housing options being based mainly on their own experiences not yours. Laughed at the comments about your mum - 29 pages???? Fortunately I'm old enough for my mum to have finally given up trying to influence my wayward behaviour. Glad you had such a fabulous birthday.