The thing about moving is that it sucks; that’s the thing.

I moved out of my apartment yesterday and was met with the familiar sadness, fear, nostalgia, anticipation, and dread that crept in after I graduated from university, left summer camp as an adolescent, and moved to a different state as a kid. Doing new things is scary. Saying goodbye is hard. These truths remain even though I’m older, even when coupled with my excitement for this new adventure.

The movers came around 9:30, after a serious debacle with the moving company where they tried to postpone my move by an entire week. Gasp! After sprinkling some light, “can I speak to the manager?” energy onto the situation, they were able to move things around and make sure I got out in time. Since I already sold my car, turned my internet off, gave my apartment a departure date, scheduled termination of services with the electric company, and had my mom drive to San Antonio to pick me up, this was good news. Another thing about moving: it rarely goes perfectly to plan. Luckily, everything worked out and we were able to clear out. Here I am with the movers:

Once all the stuff was out and I was on a final walk-through, I was reminded of the version of myself that walked through the same empty rooms five years ago and how different things are now. I remembered the way it looked when I just moved in and had nowhere near enough furniture, the parties and dinners I hosted, the day I brought Stella home, the neighbors that turned into friends, and the first time Chase and I lived together for an extended period. It has been a true evolution, of space and of self. But that’s another thing about moving: you get to take all the experiences and lessons learned with you. Thanks for the memories, Apartment #4. I can only hope I am this gutted when I leave my our next place. ❤