As I write this I am currently soaring 10,000 feet somewhere above Michigan. I was running through the Detroit airport from gate twenty-something to gate seventy-something in order to ensure there would be adequate time for a burrito (or two) before boarding my final flight to Halifax when I realized how much my life is about to change. The past spring/summer I feel as if I’ve been living in a state of “limbo”. So many portions of my life were ending. I moved out of my apartment. I broke up with my boyfriend. I graduated college. I left my nanny job of two years. I woke up each morning in a creaky bunk bed at a frat house unsure of where I was going or what I was doing. The feeling was unsettling. It felt as if the sun had set and my life was in a period of confusion, a period of darkness. The darkness was disheartening, the darkness was a little scary but I think the sun is rising now.
It’s true what they say though, about doors and about windows, the way they say when one closes another opens. The same can be said about sunsets and sunrises. After each sunset comes a new sunrise, although they sometimes forget to tell you about waiting through the night. I said “goodbye” to my beautiful apartment but said “hello” to a summer living with my best friend. I said “goodbye” to an unhealthy relationship but I said “hello” to a whimsical whirlwind summer romance. And now I’m saying “goodbye” to Seattle, the city I’ve lived in essentially my entire life, to say “hello” to Halifax a small city in the North Eastern Canadian wilderness. My days will no longer be spent laying by Greenlake with my nanny babies, my nights won’t be spent surrounded by 19 year old boys in frat tanks and beer bongs (darn). The scary part isn’t necessarily what I’m leaving behind, although there are certainly pieces of it I will miss. The scary part is the unknown. I don’t know what I’ll be doing at work every day (although that mystery will be solved at 9:00am tomorrow). I don’t know the barista who will make my coffee every morning. I don’t know where I’m sleeping every night. I don’t know who I will spend my free time with (although my beautiful cousin Genevieve is at the top of my list). I don’t know if the boy who I spent the whole summer falling for will keep talking to me, or the adventures my friends in Seattle will have without me. I don’t know who will coordinate costumes with me for Halloween (a primary concern) or where the best coffee shops in Halifax are for those times I just need to be in my head and write. There are so many unknowns and although it’s scary there is something incredibly liberating and exhilaratingly beautiful about the mystery.
The next 90ish days don’t fit into the small box I call my comfort zone. My comfort zone box has a built in boyfriend, a built in city, built in friends, school and familiar jobs. I’ve lived there my whole life. And in less than two hours, when I step off of this plane and am greeted by the unfriendly faces of Canadian customs it will finally hit me that my box is gone. I’ve always been quite fond of sunrises though, even uncomfortable ones.