I wrote this yesterday and intended to post it at some point last night. However, I haven’t had a chance to set up internet since I moved, and I wasn’t able to go anywhere with WiFi last night. So here it is, unchanged from last night. (You can pretend you’re reading it in real-time.)
Last night was the first night Josh and I spent in our new apartment, and I can’t tell you the array of emotions I felt. Honestly, the only few I can pinpoint were excitement, anxiety and sadness. They kept me up last night and will probably continue to for the next few nights.
I’m excited to finally be in this place, both literally and metaphorically. My new home is beautiful, and I love sharing it with Josh. And I’m stoked to finally have hit this mark in our relationship where we are comfortable enough to live together.
But I’m anxious too. Every time I move, I forget about how overwhelming the piles of boxes can be until the boxes start piling up in my new place. And I don’t mean empty boxes; those make me a happy person. No, I mean the ones still wrapped in tape and weighing what seems like a billion pounds. Yeah, those boxes.
The anxiety was expected. It happens every time I move. It takes me a week or so to get used to the idea that this place is my new home and I won’t walk through the front door of my former home again. It’s such an odd feeling.
I think the most difficult emotion to handle is the sadness, mostly because I can’t decide if I even should feel this way. It feels a lot like mourning.
Let me explain why this is so tough.
First, I hated where I was living before. The management was terrible, rent was ridiculous and my neighbors were obnoxious. So why should I be sad about leaving it behind?
Second, I’m super upset about having to get rid of my love seat. It wouldn’t fit in my living room, so now I’m left with only half the set (the couch). I feel so petty about it.
Finally, I miss my roommates. I’ve lived with my best friend for the past three years, and it’s hard to imagine not living with her anymore. She’s been my rock nearly the entire time I’ve lived away from my parents. This is the most difficult to deal with because it’s so hard to discuss without seeming like I don’t want to live with Josh (because I totally want to). Even though my best friend is, as she put it, only a text/call/drive/FaceTime away, I still miss her bunches.
So, that’s the thing about moving I always forget–the vast emotions I can’t seem to pinpoint. And they get harder to handle every time.