This is a hard post to write. I’ve been searching in myself for the words I want to say for several weeks now and I still keep avoiding it. I’ve said it a few times and in a few places, so anyone who reads this blog probably already knows that I am moving back home in less than two weeks. It’s hard to know where to start to make it all make sense and not ramble forever, but I suppose I’ll start from the beginning.
In November I flew out to Louisville for a job interview. I took the job when it was offered to me and I had four weeks to pack and move. My boyfriend and I went on our first date in October and it felt very silly at the time to turn down a job for a two month relationship. If it was meant to be, it would be, I told myself. He helped me move out here, albeit reluctantly but supportively nonetheless and we planned initially to try and see one another at least once a month, if not more.
To say it was hard would be an understatement. Falling in love with someone who you rarely see, in a different time zone, is it’s own unique kind of torture. But he flew out here every three weeks for the first few months. It wasn’t until my first visit home, only two full months after coming here that I started spiraling down. With a whole slew of family issues and my heart feeling like it was no longer in my chest but beating 1,000 miles away from me, I began to get pretty depressed. My visit home wasn’t some glorious event where I saw my old life through rose tinted glasses or something. In fact, it was really hard. It reminded me of why I moved away in the first place.
I didn’t (and still don’t) really want to be in Denver. I liked the distance from everything I grew up with. In Louisville I am what I say I am. I get to be a version of me that doesn’t exist in Denver. Which is why the decision to move home was ridiculously difficult. But I thought about it and I talked about it with my closest people a lot. I faced a good deal of resistance to my idea of moving home, in fact, my two best friends were (and kinda still are) pretty ardently against the notion of me moving back. This is my big chance in life, the big opportunity to go do something different. And I would move back over family stuff that’s out of my control and even worse, for a man? I feel guilty even writing how much my friends oppose my decision, because it may all blow up in my face someday. But at the end of it all, this is my decision.
If everything was perfect, you would never learn and you would never grow. – Beyonce
The thing about me is that I always follow my intuition. And uniquely, my intuition isn’t just my “gut feeling”. I’m very good at combining feelings with logic. It’s always been a skill of mine. My gut is telling me to go home. My gut is telling me to give my relationship a shot. My brain is going through the catalog of my existence and it keeps telling me the same thing: I always learn from my mistakes. I am a person who makes a lot of mistakes, but I don’t make the same mistakes twice. It is one of my deepest held beliefs in life that the path to wisdom is a series of lessons that one must learn and that the universe (or whatever you believe in) will guide you down your path. When you encounter obstacles, you always have to make choices and experience the pieces of life that have been made available to you. It is your choice whether to learn from the experience and move forward, or to stay there and continue experiencing the same thing over and over (usually asking yourself “why me?”). Thus far, the worst and hardest experiences in my life have taught me the most important lessons. I am always learning, even if sometimes it’s the hard way.
So no matter what happens next, maybe my relationship falls apart, maybe we get married and live happily ever after. Maybe I hate that I moved back home and I find another out of state job. Maybe I go home and redefine my life and my friendships completely. This is my life and I am learning the lessons I need to learn right now.