Hello world, it’s been awhile since I’ve blogged, so bear with me as I shake the rust off.
A lot has happened since I last turned letters into words that ended up on a website, it’s pretty crazy to think about. We have a new President (ugh, but don’t worry this is NOT a political blog, I promise). I have a new zip code (come visit East Harlem, I have a comfy sleeper sofa!) Our world is hotter (global warming is no joke), and thousands of people now hum songs about the guy who created our national banking system (aka Alexander Hamilton, thanks Lin-Manuel Miranda!)
I’ve hemmed and hawed about blogging again, to be honest. Seems sacrilegious as someone with an English degree, right? To not know if she wants to write? Believe me, I know. I still love to read, that I know. But writing, I know how to do it and I know that I’m good at it, so why does this idea of it feel like the last thing I want to do? As I’ve reflected, I think it has a lot do with with where my head has been these past couple of years.
I am a planner. Not with everything, but with a lot of things. I worked every summer of college and got my 1st “big kid” job before I graduated, at the Santa Clara job fair, no less. That job, while it was exciting at first, was really hard. It was a boot camp, of sorts, on how to be a part of the real working world. I stayed at that job for 2 1/2 years; from what I’ve seen in today’s millennial workforce, that’s a long time for a first job. When it was time for me to move on, I planned. I sent out applications & resumes every Saturday for 5 months before I landed an interview at my current company. It took 7 interviews, but I planned and I prepped, and I landed the job.
After some months, my company opened an office in San Francisco to house what happened to be my division. At that point, it just made sense for me to move to San Francisco. The thing is, though, I didn’t plan. I did my best to get everything together for this move (50 miles, felt much longer than that). When I moved up to San Francisco, I stayed at my sister’s apartment. But I still wasn’t planning, not the way I normally do. Too much time went by before I finally found my own apartment, I hardly had any furniture. Somehow, I made it work, drove to Portland a few months later to sell my car and get furniture from my old house, and drove it back to San Francisco.
I started in San Francisco really excited about what this new chapter could hold, what I didn’t plan on was how hard it would be to, well, plan. I bounced between churches, weekend activities, things to push me out of my comfort zone but didn’t stick with anything. In my head, the excuse was that I was too busy, work was too time consuming, but the truth was that I was scared. I was far enough out of college that most of my friends (who hadn’t moved away to a new city or moved home) were entrenched in their schedules, their jobs, their lives. I wasn’t. And because I wasn’t, I hid. I was living in one of the most wonderful, beautiful cities in the world and there’s so much of it I didn’t see or experience. I’ve been away from there for a couple of months now, so I’m starting to be able to look back. I don’t have a good answer to the why, but I’m getting there.
This move to New York City, a place I’ve wanted to live since I was a little girl, was planned in many ways but not all ways. I came to the city in February with a list of 15 apartments to see, but I ended up in a beautiful, bright one bedroom in a neighborhood that wasn’t on my list but I’m coming to love. I’m eternally grateful to my parents for helping me furnish it, from my childhood bed to a beautiful new coffee table that has space for my beloved books.
I titled my blog, “How Do I Know if I’m an Adult” because I honestly don’t know. I know I get a paycheck every two weeks and that I have a work laptop, but what does it mean to be an adult? Is there a checklist somewhere? I feel like an adult, I think, living in this beautiful city, but I also feel like a kid, not wanting to fully acknowledge the responsibilities I do have. I’m working really hard to dig through what scared me so much in San Francisco and kept me from living fully and truthfully. I was there for two years. Two years is a long time, but it’s not my whole life. I’m proud of myself for recognizing that I needed a change of scenery, a reboot of sorts, but I know I have a ways to go.
I wasn’t sure how personal I’d get here, but writing this all down felt okay. I don’t know how often I’ll blog or what it will be about. But, I’m suddenly much more excited about the prospect than I thought I’d be. Will I find the answer to the question of how I’ll know if I’m an adult? No idea. I’ll keep you guys posted, it may not always be pretty or fun, but I’ll do my best to keep it truthful & real, all of it.