I heard somewhere that there’s actually a gene for
wanderlust. A gene to explain the inability to stay in one place. Something to
put a biological reason behind the inner longing to do nothing but see every
last thing this world has to offer. Perhaps that’s the case. Honestly I didn’t read
the article close enough to remember. All I know is standing still, literally
or metaphorically, is never something I’ve been good at in my life.
Perhaps it’s a combination of genetics and the fact that my
earliest memory is a layover in an airport, but I think anyone that knows me can
agree I was never destined to stand still. I love it. I love always having a
new story to tell. I love the narcissistic feeling when people are impressed by
the places I’ve been. I’m not above admitting that I do things because I think
it’ll make me seem cool. But I also often wish I was that type of person
capable of spending my whole life in one place. I wish I was happy with the
idea of getting married, buying a house, having a few kids, retiring to Florida
and dying (10 points to anyone who catches that reference). Being that person would
mean the ability to always be around for the major moments in my friends and
families lives. It would mean friendships that where close and lasting for
years on end without requiring a strong Skype connection or the need to try to
keep track of who the other people we tell each other about are because we’ve
never met them ourselves. It would mean feeling like I was a stable person in
any of my friends’ lives.
But we can’t change who we are. And there comes a time when
we have to accept that we aren’t happy doing what we’re doing, and it’s time to
make a change. Enter: Boston. Almost to the day, it’s been a year since I
finished my Peace Corps service and made the decision to move back to Seattle.
I hadn’t had the experience of living actually in the city before and I wanted
to know what I claimed was my hometown once and for all. I wanted, after 27
months overseas, to be that stable person in my friends’ lives again, at least
for the time being. I was never kidding myself to think I would stay in Seattle
forever, or even for a long time. I have some friends who were amazed I even
lasted as long as I did in Seattle (about 10 and a half months…ish). It’s a
city that will always hold my heart close, that I love completely, that has
some of the greatest people out there, and that frankly, just doesn’t have a
lot of opportunity.
I’ve dealt with mental health problems off and on for years
and have always been an advocate for taking care of our own mental health and not
being afraid to admit it. It’s a field I’m passionate about and wanted the
experience of working in, but also knew it wasn’t where I wanted to be forever.
Kind of like Seattle. I got back from Peace Corps, I had a friend who worked in
inpatient psychiatric, and I got hooked up with a job. I had a blast with it, I
learned a ton from it, and I got what I wanted to get out of it. Unless I
planned on becoming a nurse or getting my doctorate and being a therapist
though, there wasn’t really anywhere else for me to go with my job. I was
exhausted, I was tired of always being at risk of someone trying to punch me,
and I wasn’t working towards anything. I needed something new.
Unfortunately, no matter how hard I looked, there just weren’t
a lot of possibilities for other jobs in Seattle. Even if I wanted to stay in
healthcare, the job market in Seattle is oversaturated and competition is
fierce. Plus, to be frank, I think deep down I really didn’t want to just find
something else in Seattle. I was burnt out on the city. Everyone I knew had
moved there from somewhere else and was excited about it being new and
different. I wanted that experience also, but Seattle is all I’ve known in the
U.S. A few more broken hearts than I’m willing to admit in such a short time,
combined with the city itself breaking my heart, and it was time to go.
I didn’t really care where I went, but I knew I’d always
been drawn to the east coast. I applied for jobs everywhere though: New York,
Chicago, Boston, DC, New Orleans. Really anything east of the Mississippi and I
was willing to consider it. On March 9, I was tentatively offered a job in
Boston, contingent on a few other things coming together, but if it worked, I
had to be in Boston before April 9 or it was gone, the fun part being that I
wouldn’t know for sure until the last minute. So by March 12, I put notice in
at work, and made the decision to go no matter what. I bought a car, I packed
my apartment, I planned it all out, set to leave Seattle on April 2 and drive
cross country. On March 28, my second to last day at work, the job in Boston
fell through, and I felt like my world crashed around me. This job was a dream.
It would have set me up for everything I wanted to be doing in life. It was
perfect. I didn’t have it anymore. I stood there in my boxed up apartment, set
to have a new tenant move in 3 days later, and had to make a choice. Was I
going to stick to my original plan of going no matter what (a plan that was a
lot easier to make thinking that wouldn’t actually happen), or did I unpack all
my boxes back into the same places in my apartment, take my notice at work back
and continue doing what I’d been doing for the last 10 months, and just keep
searching for other options in the meantime?
Ultimately though, the decision wasn’t up to me. It was up
to my friend who was going to be letting me crash on her couch indefinitely in
Boston while I got my feet on the ground, now a much more gracious thing to do
if I really didn’t have any idea when I would be off her couch. On a break at
work I called her up and, half in tears, asked her what she thought I should
do. “You’re nuts if you think you aren’t still coming. You’re sick of Seattle,
you need a change, and you said you were coming, get out here. Walk dogs while
you figure it out if you have to. You can stay with me as long as you need.” I
guess I was going. And I went.
Some people told me I was brave for doing what I did, some
said they wish they could do something like that, some said I was nuts and
should have stayed in Seattle while I looked for jobs before I moved. They’re
all probably right in some form or another, but ultimately, I just listened to
myself and what I needed right then, and it was to do something outrageous. I
needed to do something that felt stupid and impulsive and impossible and prove
I did it. I needed to know that in 20 years I could look back and know I did
what my heart needed at the time. And honestly being in Boston makes me
confident I’ll end up back in Seattle someday. But, as the ancient proverb
goes, you have to get off the mountain to see it.
Boston to me is the chance for me to have a new experience
and see another part of America. It’s the opportunity to know that sometimes
things don’t go as planned but they can be what you chose to make them. It’s
the recognition that life had given me a push in a direction and it was
important to listen to it and see what it was going to tell me. It’s more than
likely I won’t stay here forever, but it seems as good a place as any to hang
out in while I figure out what to do next.
