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I moved out of the “country” house five days ago. And for most of the days since, I have cried my self to sleep. It’s like a bad break up with out the hopes of really good make-up sex.
I knew I was attached to the house, in all of its colorful glory. I knew that I had fallen in love with “the country.” I especially knew how important my “country” friends had become. They are my family, even more so than some blood. We chose to be together.
A series of unfortunate events left me without a lot of choices. And at 30, one has to decide to put some things first. As an unattached babyless renter, your career tends to be the right choice. So I decided to pack up my things and move back to Long Island. For a reorg. A proper job search back in the city. And maybe even a recharge, refocus, regroup.
Dear friends in San Francisco insisted on a visit once the move was over. Smart move. I’ve been in the other coast for a few days now and I for the first time last night I didn’t shed a tear when my head hit the pillow. I was okay. Maybe the bedtime tears have run out. I know the talking about the roommate and the house tears have not. They are still strong and uninterrupted.
So, as the many many many decisions still need to be made as to what is next, there are a few things that are certain:
- My heart is fuller than it has ever been before.
- I am absolutely in love with the Hudson Valley.
- I will carefully look into all career moves with diligence and the emphasis on the right fit.
And I will absolutely continue to believe in my Nana’s words of wisdom, “Thea, you imagine it and then you make it happen.”