All of our lives are a
story.Over these last 14 weeks, I've traveled through 14 countries. I've read the stories of many kings, queens, princes, princesses, emperors and empresses. Sometimes, they were riveting stories and I could barely tear myself away from the museum or castle afterwards. But other times, I was looking for the exit after just a few minutes. She was born. She lived. She died. Booooooring!
We all have those same three lines. But how did she live? Did she live with passion and reckless abandon or timidly, meekly? Was she a liar, a bank robber, a good woman, a sexpot, a combination of all of those things? Was she interesting? Fabulous? Kind? Funny?
As I blogged throughout my European trip, I had one common question in the back of my
head…"Is this a story worth reading?”
Maybe it’s because I don’t have children.The sheer act of creating another human life
means you have someone to remember your name, tell your story, keep your
belongings in a chest in their attic and pass along your china to their children.If
I never have kids, who will remember my story?
And perhaps it's also because as of late, I’ve been
surrounded by only the stories of kings and queens, who are remembered and
celebrated in a thousand ways – museums, statues, books, poems, prose… that I
realize just how insignificant my life may be.There will (likely) never be a plaque with my name on it or a statue in a
square anywhere.I’ve never wanted to be
famous – not for one day of my life – but the idea of being an insignificant,
forgotten blip in the scheme of the universe is sort of a bummer, too.
The only thing I've ever secretly dreamed of becoming is a successful writer. I love to cozy up with a book, dive in and explore the world the writer has created for me. As a reader, I adore the idea of other readers curled up in their favorite chair with my book, devouring each word I've written, hungry for more. Oh, I'd love to be a writer! To write a book that becomes mainstream...to see strangers with my book in their tote bags, or reading my book at a cafe. To see my book in a news stand or a library shelf. I dream of writing a character that everyone feels they know personally, someone like Harry Potter, or Stephanie Plum, or one of my childhood favorites, Harriet the Spy. How strange and wonderful it must feel for millions to know a person that you created in your mind.
I’m going to continue writing, musing and telling stories as I see them. Maybe I'll never get married, and I'll probably never have kids. But I will always be writing. It's what I love. It's what stirs my soul. But, as I travel throughout Europe, without a job, mortgage, or a care in the world, what I’ve come to realize is that I’m truly concerned with something else entirely.
It's not about writing a story worth reading. It's about living a LIFE worth writing about.
After spending a few days in Munich, I drove 80 miles south to a tiny Bavarian town called Schwangau, Germany. This is where I found a little bit of magic, whimsy and fantasy on my trip. The famous Neuschwanstein castle!
King Ludwig II of Bavaria built the massive Neuschwanstein castle in honor of his favorite composer (and source of his secret romantic crush), Richard Wagner. He was reportedly infatuated with Wagner and wanted the castle to be a shrine to his works, as well as place for the performance of his operas.
The castle is the real life depiction of every gorgeous, opulent princess castle I'd ever seen or dreamed of as a little girl. In fact, Walt Disney and his wife, Lillian, had taken a European tour before he built Disneyland and they visited the Neuschwanstein castle. Mr. Disney was so awestruck by the castle, it became the inspiration for Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella's castles. See for yourself:
I can certainly see similarities! To tour the castle, I parked at the bottom of the mountain, paid for admittance, and boarded a shuttle bus that took me to the top of the mountain. After dozen of hairpin turns and twists, the shuttle dropped me and my fellow visitors off at the top, a short walk away from the castle itself.
Part of the magical experience of visiting Neuschwanstein is the incredible walk up to the castle. There is a long path and the castle ispartially hidden, tucked away behind trees, so as you walk, slowly, turrets and spires come into sight one by one. When I rounded the last corner, the entire castle came into view and nearly took my breath away.
Gorgeous doesn't begin to describe it. It's magical, grandiose and stunning. I spent about 30 minutes slowly wandering around the outside, taking it all in. As I strolled, I walked through crowds of visitors from all over the world. There were dozens of little girls wearing princess dresses. They walked around, waiting to go in the castle, wearing tiny ball gown and princess dresses of white and pink tulle. It was so sweet, I remembered what it felt like to be 5 years old again, twirling around the living room like a princess. I secretly wished I had a princess dress on, too, instead of jeans. What can I say? The place is magical.
Only one side of Neuschwanstein is approachable by foot. On all other sides of the Bavarian castle, the ground drops off in sheer bluffs. It's absolutely jaw dropping.
After a short wait, my group was ushered inside for the tour. Originally, King Ludwig designed the castle to have more than 200+ rooms dedicated to the performance and appreciation of Wagner's works. 200 rooms...! In contrast, the White House has just 132 rooms. Although, the massive Buckingham Palace has 775 rooms, with 78 of them bathrooms! Imagine cleaning 78 toilets. Ugh.
But I digress. Despite the plan for 200+ rooms in Neuschwanstein castle, only 14 were ever finished. Construction began in 1869 and went on for more than 16 years. Sadly, Richard Wagner died in 1883, having never visited Neuschwanstein, and King Ludwig was devastated. Just three years later (1886), he was declared insane and died mysteriously 3 days after his diagnosis. After his death, because of the massive debt King Ludwig amassed, his family opened Neuschwanstein to visitors.
Today, visitors can only tour the 14 completed rooms. Nothing can prepare a visitor for the dripping, gilded, opulent interior. His eccentric style is distinct and in my opinion, overwhelming to the senses. Every inch of every wall, floor, ceiling, surface was embellished in some way.
My favorite room was the Throne Room. The massive focal point is a chandelier, designed to look like the Byzantine crown. It weighs over 2,000 lbs!
The castle is full of tapestries, murals of Wagner's works, gilded walls, mirrors and picture frames.
And more incredible chandeliers!
My senses were overloaded during the entire tour, but in a great way. It was gorgeous, opulent and over the top! It's hard not to get a little caught up in the love story, as well. Imagine love so strong that a person would devote their life to honoring another, or building something so massive in their honor. Men built the Taj Mahal and Neuschwanstein, so perhaps men are the romantic gender? Certainly not in my personal experience...
As I left the castle, I veered off the path to stop on the Marienbrucke bridge. The long, narrow bridge stretches over a stream and several waterfalls and has an unbeatable view of the castle. It feels as if this must be the very spot King Ludwig stood when he was designing the castle. And for all I know, maybe it was.
I'm not a big fan of bridges, especially ancient ones that are just wooden planks with GAPS between the planks. Seriously, gaps! I prefer my bridges to be steel and secure. But, despite my fear, I did walk out to the middle and allowed the tranquility of the place to wash over me.
There is no denying that King Ludwig II of Bavaria was a strange man. His unrequited romantic obsession with Richard Wagner took over his life, bankrupted him and broke his heart. But that passion also gave his life purpose. His passion led him to build this gorgeous castle, which has brought millions of people joy and happiness. It inspired Walt Disney, who in turn, shaped the imaginations of millions of little girls about what a princess castle looks like. It inspired Disneyland, and surely inspires the millions of visitors that flock there every year. It's magical and romantic.
I stood on the bridge for so long that I missed the last shuttle down the mountain. The sky was turning gorgeous shades of orange and the castle was transformed in front of my eyes. As the sun set over Neuschwanstein, I felt optimistic. Maybe someday, I'd have someone in my life who wants to build me a castle.
As I started the long, slow walk down the mountain, I looked around a few times to make sure I was alone. And then, I did a few little twirls in my imaginary princess dress.
I find it very interesting. People are constantly trying to escape being alone. We surround ourselves with people- family, friends, husband, wives, children, crowds, bigger crowds, strangers. Anything to keep from being (gasp!) alone. I mean, I get it. If given the choice, you'd rather go to dinner with your husband/wife/kids/ boyfriend/ girlfriend/BFF than to be alone. I feel the same way sometimes. But, what if you want to see an art exhibit and no one is available to go with you? Will you skip it? Would you go hungry instead of having a sandwich solo? If so....why?
I'm single and don't have children, so spend a decent amount of time alone. Generally speaking, I'm perfectly okay with that. It seems to freak the shit out of everyone else, though. I'm an extrovert, to be sure. I love being around others, talking, sharing, socializing. But, I also like to be alone to recharge my batteries. I'll go to the movies or a museum alone. And of course, those of you who read my blog regularly know that I'm currently traveling throughout Europe for 3.5 months alone.
A part of me relishes doing things alone. When I'm alone, I can circle the parking lot 5 times waiting for the perfect parking spot to open up without judgement or park at the furthest spot to get some extra steps in my pedometer. I don't have to compromise and go to the restaurant I don't really like, but my friend/mom/boyfriend/cousin/coworker likes. I linger or dash when I want. I can see the movie I want to see and sit in the exact seat I want, no hushed negotiations in the darkened theater aisle about seating. Ahhh, it's the blissful freedom of no compromises!
I'm also comfortable eating in a restaurant alone, which I know makes some people super uncomfortable. I have a busy brain always thinking of a dozen things, so it's almost impossible to get bored. But I can also shut it off and relax, read, or people watch happily.
But despite my comfort at being alone, I on this trip, I've realized I have a few pet peeves and I've got to vent!
Pet Peeve #1 - "Only one?"
If I walk into a restaurant alone and say confidently with a smile "I'd like a table for dinner, please" the correct response is "Yes, ma'am, right this way." (or some derivation thereof).
The INCORRECT responses include:
"Just you?"
"A table for one?"
"Dining alone tonight, ma'am?"
"Will someone else be joining you?"
But above all of them, my LEAST favorite response is: "Only one?"
Only.
One.
Only one? Nothing like adding the word "only" to instantly assign value and importance to the quantity of people sitting at a table. Embedded in that sentence is judgement and value: more is better. Two is appropriate. Two is expected. Three or four is great and more than that is a party! But one? Can it be true? Can one person want to sit at a table and eat food? Make no mistake. "Only one?" is a value statement. Only signifies lacking, too few, not enough. Only one, frankly, is an asshole thing to say.
Pet Peeve #2 - Sad glances
There are few things more annoying than Little Miss Sad Glances. I am enjoying a nice meal and a glass of wine and looking around when I spot her. There's always (at least) one woman nearby nervously checking me out every 30 seconds. My very existence makes her so uncomfortable it actually disturbs her meal. Sometimes she even points me out to her companion, who will also look over. Interestingly, if it's a man, he usually smiles and has a look in his face that says "cool." But, if it's a woman, she also gives me sad glances. I'm not going to burst into flames, lady. I'm just gonna eat this sandwich and then resume my fabulous life....mmmkay? Thanks.
Pet Peeve #3 "You're my hero/so brave / I could never!"
Ahhhh, this one is the worst! I'm sitting in an awesome restaurant in Budapest, enjoying a glass of wine and a nice meal and two 20-something girls stop by and say "we just think you're SO brave to sit here and eat alone!" Her friend nods emphatically and says with a big smile, "SO, SO brave!" Derivations of this include the overly sympathetic smile and the random stop at my table to pay me a compliment. It's usually something like "I think it's awesome you'll go out to eat alone!" or "You're so brave!" with a big, reassuring smile. Sometimes they go a little further and remind me of why they don't do the same thing. "I could never!" or "I just don't think I could do that, I'd be too self-conscious!" or something along those lines.
The intent is to praise me, to make me feel better and to show me that they're so impressed. (SO, SO brave!) You're impressed I'm eating spaghetti? Well then you should see what I can do to a steak and baked potato! I'm eating food, like I've done successfully for about 31 years now. I don't need praise...now please get away from my table.
*******
I've got some dark news for you, folks. We all come in this world alone and we all leave it the same way. If you can't eat a sandwich alone without getting twitchy, you might want to reexamine some things.
I challenge you all to do 2 things:
1. Don't ever do anything I outlined above. It's rude. It's insensitive. You are projecting your uncomfortable shit onto the solo diner / movie watcher / museum goer. They're alone. They are comfortable. They rock. Move on with your day.
2. Try doing something alone! Actually, try 3 things. Because it takes some getting used to. But you'll find your solo groove, I promise!
First, try a solo movie. That's super easy. It's dark, you have popcorn to munch on and you're not supposed to talk during the movie anyway. Go, enjoy the movie, then resume your life emboldened by your solo outing!
Next, try going to a museum or art gallery by yourself. Linger when you want, race through a room full of art you hate, do whatever you want! Reassure yourself (as needed) by reminding yourself that no one knows if your husband/friend is just in the next room or at the last painting.
And then one day, take a deep breath and go out to eat alone. Order a cocktail and your favorite meal.
Try not to have your phone or iPad in your hand, getting on Facebook...because that's really avoiding being alone. Just sit back, enjoy your drink, enjoy your meal, look around and smile!
If that's too much... go ahead and take a book, crossword puzzle or your Kindle and get lost in a good story. Before you know it, you might just look forward to solo meals where you can recharge in peace.
Life is too short to miss out on things because you’re scared of being alone. Take a deep breath, put a smile on your face and get out there!
After a great weekend in Milan, I went back to my apartment in Vicenza and picked up my rental car...a gorgeous little Alfa Romeo Gulietta. It's a pseudo-sports car with lots of power and excellent handling that seemed perfect for a road trip through Austria, Liechtenstein, Switzerland, France, Monaco and back into Italy along the Italian Riveria. A good car seemed important!
Julie with her Gulietta :)
It's almost cuter from the back, like J-Lo.
So, I set out on the A22 autobahn, which runs from Verona, Italy up through Innsbruck, Austria. The video below give you an overview of the trip - it was gorgeous! (It's time lapse, but still pretty long, so just advance the video forward and check out the vistas along the way!)
The trip takes just under 3 hours and was one of the best road trips I've ever taken. This is my first time in the Alps. I lived in California and drove through the mountains everyday. I've been up and down the Eastern seaboard amidst the Appalachians. I've been to Zurich and seen the Alps in the distance. But in my opinion, NOTHING prepares you for actually being in the Alps. It's gorgeous, awe-inspiring and makes every other mountain you've ever seen look like a charming hill in comparison. Not to be too corny, readers, but I found something that big, that old, that constant...to be life affirming. It made me feel tiny and insignificant (in a good way) .
All you see is Alps as you exit the freeway for Innsbruck.
...then a few hair raising turns and suddenly, Innsbruck comes into view in the valley below, nestled against the base of Nordekette mountain. It took my breath away and made me almost wreck my car.
My jaw remained dropped as I drove into the center of town. So THIS is why people go skiing! (ha, ha) I stayed at the Grand Hotel Europa, which I highly recommend. It's the same hotel that the Queen has stayed, I wont bore you with my review of the hotel, but you can read it on Trip Advisor here if you're interested. The decor was pretty fun, I must say.
The carpet climbed up the walls in the hallway!
And the bed was incredibly comfortable, somewhat of a rarity in Europe, if you ask me.
Now, I'm not a skier, snowboarder, snowshoer, or any type of winter sports enthusiast. But I instantly fell in love with the charms of a "ski town." All the bars and restaurants are warm and cozy with roaring fires to warm yourself near. People drink whiskey to warm up, cocoa is everywhere and the people are all wearing adorable hats and warm puffy jackets. I've decided I simply must learn to ski or snowboard so that I can go to more ski towns!
I was sitting at the bar in my hotel, enjoying a Glenlivet 18 year scotch when two very attractive men walked in.
The propped their snowboards up against the wall and sat down near me at the bar. After a few minutes, I noticed one of them kept looking over and smiling. I returned the smile and within a minute, he was sitting next to me, offering to buy me another drink.
He explains his name is Stephan. He's an Austrian snowboarder. We start talking and sparks are flying like crazy. About 30 minutes go by and his friend approaches. They exchange a few quick words in German and the friend frowns and leaves the bar. Stephan stays, all smiles.
We have dinner, more drinks, talking, getting to know each other. His English is broken and my German nonexistent (thank goodness for Google Translate). And yet somehow, he sings loudly when American music comes on the radio. He embarrasses me by standing up and pointing at me while singing Bon Jovi's "Shot Through The Heart" and everyone in the bar joins in. I turn 10 shades of red and drink more scotch. It's like out of a movie...a bunch of Austrians who can barely speak English, but can sing perfectly without any accent. I laugh and laugh. It's one of those perfect evenings...
The next morning, I had decided that even though I am not a big fan of heights, I will boldly take the cable car to the very top of Nordkette mountain to see the view. I walked about 5 minutes from my hotel to the Congress building to the Nordkettenbahnen station.
I proudly declare to the ticket agent I want to go "...all the way up, please!" only to be told in a monotone voice that it's a cloudy day and I can only go halfway up to the Hungerberg stop at 860m. DANG IT!
I buy a ticket to Hungerberg and on a whim, I also bought a ticket for the AlpenZoo.
The tram is just 5 cars, mostly glass and have a funny shape to them. I quickly learn why - they have to curve and almost stack on one another as the tram climbs the very steep mountain.
The tram
View down from the Alpenzoo stop.
The views are stunning in every direction. I asked a stranger to snap a photo of me.
And a selfie for good measure....
The zoo itself is built into the side of Nordkette, so that the Alpine animals can live in their natural habitats. It's a bit strenuous to walk around the zoo between habitats, but it made for a great workout. I particularly loved the mountain goats (the ones who can grab the rocks with their toes) and the moose, who I think was fond of me.
I really enjoyed the Alpen Zoo and recommend it to anyone going to Innsbruck!
Next, I continued up the tram to the Hungerberg stop. I am reasonably sure Patrick Dempsey was on my tram...seriously.
Hungerberg is the halfway point and the place where you catch the cable car up to the summit. More amazing views here, of course. My favorite was a glass wall in honor of Hermann Buhl, an Innsbruck born Austrian climber and all around badass.
Stephan had told me a bit about him the night before. Buhl died in Pakistan, doing what he loved...climbing, pushing his limits and exploring the world.
I thought about adventure as I ate lunch at a little cafe called Wolke 7. I had a traditional Austrian soup called "brodo con canederli pressati al formaggio" which is a delicious beef broth with a cheese dumpling in the middle. YUM!
The rest of my time in Innsbruck went by quickly. I walked around the old town but didn't visit any museums. I wasn't in the mood for that type of experience. I really enjoyed strolling around, looking at architecture, window shopping, dodging trams and people walking by with snowboards and ski equipment.
I adored seeing the mountains over every building, always in the distance, like a safe sheltering force surrounding the town.
I studied the way the town was bathed in light and shadow at various times during the day because of the clouds (or lack thereof) on the mountain. It really is a beautiful town.
I think it's safe to say, Innsbruck is where in love with Austria and where I fell deeply in love with the Alps.
And now that I know gorgeous men like Stephan are up at the top of the mountain, singing Bon Jovi and drinking scotch, I really must learn to snowboard.
My first week in Italy was a bit lazy but it was also perfect!
I've explored my new neighborhood in Vicenza, learned the bus routes, the process for buying train tickets and have a favorite local pizzeria.
Each day our beautiful apartment feels more like home. We spent the first week in our apartment doing standard stuff, like waiting for the Wi-Fi installer and buying housewares. My Mom bought a beautiful rug and a cute Corning wear baking dish from the thrift store on the Army base. I love that she spent just 6€, but the rug really made the apartment feel more like a home to all of us. And now we can cook meals at home!
We were all thrilled to finally have Wi-Fi in the apartment, thanks to the installer who came on Wednesday. He had a loud, booming voice and sang opera in Italian as he worked. Even the servicemen in Italy are charming.
This week gave me time to recover from jet lag and get settled in Italy. But now, it's time to get traveling! I'll spend this weekend with my parents before I head off on my travels on Monday...!
...so off I went with a hangover and a spotty memory from the night before. My Air France flight Atlanta to Paris was one of the worst flights of my life. I had a bulkhead seat, but sitting next to two very large men, so I had zero space. I literally ate standing up in the galley because eating next to Andre the Giant's long lost cousin was impossible.
There was also a heating unit under my seat running constantly and blowing hot air on my legs. It also warmed the seat itself and made my ass feel like it was being slowly burned by lava. And being located on the aisle and in the bulkhead meant that I was always being (a) hit by someone walking down the aisle, (b) stepped on by someone waiting for the bathroom or (c) about knocked unconscious from the smells coming from the bathroom. All of my hopes of plane sleep to get through my hangover were dashed. I was dead tired.
I spent most of the flight standing in the back of the plane where the refrigerators were to escape my seat and the broad shouldered Czech man leaning on me. I chatted up the crew and remembered how much I love the French people and language. It made me ever more excited to be spending 2 weeks in France in April. I fell asleep standing up at one point.
Best Love Story Ever...
If you'd have told me I'd hear the most romantic story ever in the back of a Boeing 777, I wouldn't have believed it. But it was at the back of the plane by the refrigerators I met a very attractive man named Jose from Valencia, Spain. Truth be told, I'd seen him in the gate area in Atlanta while waiting to board. Jose is 32 and very attractive. He has that effortless European style...jeans that hang off his hips perfectly, a button down shirt, brown suede boots and the perfect 5 o'clock shadow. Even his hair was perfectly tousled and he was wearing glasses which read "Porsche" on the side. (My gawd, you guys...Porsche makes glasses??) He reeked of coolness. I, on the other hands, was wearing pajamas and reeked of whisky and guilt, both coming out of my pores from the night before.
So as I sat chilling my ass on the refrigerators, Jose suddenly appeared and we started talking. We ended up talking for nearly 2 hours in the back of that plane and the time starts passing quickly. His smile is so dazzling it seems fake and he smiles often.
We had that easy, effortless conversation that happens so much traveling. You start by comparing current travel plans (he's returning home to Valencia, Spain via Paris) and places you've been (he's been everywhere and gives me recommendations as we chat). We talk about our jobs, our families, our dating lives. We talk about places we want to visit and I have a list as long as my arm. I want to see the world, I tell him, and this trip is just the tip of the iceberg! This will be my most romantic trip, I assure him, as I describe some of the romantic cities I'll be visiting - Paris, Prague, Budapest, Florence, the Amalfi coastline. We disagree on what romance is and Jose tells me he dreams of riding a Harley through the Grand Canyon and Route 66. That's romance to him, he says. A pair of jeans in a backpack and nothing more. I believe him.
We talk about finding love and romance on the road. Suddenly, he is telling me the sweetest love story. 8 years prior, Jose met a Mexican woman during his travels. His eyes met hers type of story. They have a wonderful romance and fall in love. They agree to keep in touch and for a long time, they do. One day, she simply stops returning his emails. He checks everyday, waiting for her reply. It never comes.
As we stand there on the plane, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his passport. He opens it and perfume tester strip falls out into his hand. He holds it to his nose and his eyes close as he breathes it in. He holds it out for me and I inhale. It's an amazing scent...vanilla and something I can't quite put my finger on. I love it immediately. He tells me it's her perfume, Dior Hypnotic Poison. For the last 8 years, whenever he travels in the West, he looks for his lost love. He searches the crowd for her face in Canada, the USA and Mexico. And he passes through each duty-free shop, Jose always sprays her perfume on a test strip and into his passport so he can be reminded of her.
He has a new girlfriend whom he loves and they're very happy together. He would never tell his current girlfriend about the Mexican woman and it occurs to me that his search for her will never stop because the old wound hasn't healed. If she'd only written to say she was moving on, things would be different for Jose. He would have closure and could move on knowing instead of wondering. But as it is, one of the great loves of his life is out there in the world and he is constantly searching a sea of faces for her.
The story is so romantic it makes my chest feel tight. It's sad, yes, but mostly, I'm struck by how beautiful the story is. We are beginning our decent into Paris and they ask us to take our seats. We exchange contact information and I head back to my seat. As I do, I realize that no one has ever loved me the way Jose loves the Mexican woman. I feel a different sort of tightness in my chest and shake my head to erase that sad thought from my brain.
In the Paris airport, Jose waves to me as we go into the restrooms and I tell him I'll meet him after customs, but I lost him in the shuffle. I try to find him at his gate in Charles de Galle to say a proper goodbye, but I can't find him and have to abandon the hunt to make my connecting flight.
But Jose knows my blog address and perhaps one day he'll read these words. I board my flight to Venice and it's blissfully quiet on this plane. I have space and a non-heated seat. I am drop-dead tired. I fall asleep before we even takeoff but before I do, I imagine Jose going home, tucking his vanilla scented passport into a drawer and trying to forget about the Mexican woman. As the wheels liftoff the ground, I imagine him kissing his girlfriend and I wonder if he's happy to embrace what's real or if he will dream of his long lost love tonight...
If you're not familiar with my adventures in restoration, read the post HERE before you continue. See the finished product...my fully renovated house HERE.
One week from today, I'll sit at a closing table and sign my dream home over to complete strangers.
On the horizon is adventure beyond my wildest dreams. For the next 3 months, I'll be living in Italy, traveling through Europe and finishing with 2 weeks in France. I am over-the-moon excited for this trip. When I return, I'm moving back to my home state of Michigan! After 14 years away, it'll be amazing to live near my family and friends again. Lunch with my sister! Antiquing with my mom! Activities with my nieces and nephews! I cannot wait.
I am very excited for the next chapter of my life to begin.
And I am also so sad, I can barely breathe.
The sadness crept in this week as I started packing up my house. This is the end of a really big chapter in my life. I left Michigan at the age of 21, spent 3 years in Los Angeles and the last 11 years here in Atlanta. This will be my 3rd cross-country move and let me tell you...it's always hard.
In a lot of ways, I grew up in Atlanta. It's the place I've spent the majority of my adult life, where my friendships have developed, where my career has grown and where I've had 1,000 amazing experiences.
It's where I learned improv and did my first Zip!Zap!Zop! It's where I first sang on stage, performed spoken word poetry, ran my first mile and completed my first triathlon. It's where I have tried new things, failed, succeeded, grown and learned. It's also where I purchased, renovated and sold my first two homes, which has turned into a passion for me. I love my life in Atlanta. This house, this neighborhood, this city feels more like home to me than any place on Earth.
I've told a few friends how I feel and the replies have been "But Michigan will be so great!" or "Just think about your trip to Italy! It's a grand adventure." It's almost as if the wonderful events on the horizon mean I can't also be sad that this chapter of my life is coming to a close.
I'm sad. And that doesn't mean I'm making the wrong choice. It just means I'm sad. Change is hard. Leaving people you love is difficult. Moving cross country is stressful. Selling the home you imagined spending your life in...is heartbreaking.
The last few days have consisted of mostly packing and crying. Last night, I found myself on my kitchen floor sobbing amidst boxes and bubble wrap. Thank God for my best friend, Erin, or I might still be there on the floor.
So, for now, please don't tell me how great Michigan is (it is!). Please don't remind me that Italy will be amazing (it will!) or that I should be excited for the adventures that lay ahead of me (I am!).
Just hold my hand and try to understand. This was an exceptional chapter in my life.
And please, pass me the tissues.
