Two More Years

Today is the two year anniversary of the morning I left my mom's house in a U-Haul packed with everything I owned, heading for New York City. I'd closed my bank account and had all the cash stashed in a white sack with a dollar sign on the front. Just kidding, it was in an envelope. It was snowing, I didn't have a job lined up, and I was alone.


I won't go into all that's happened since, but I'm proud to say that I'm doing just fine. Matt and I were talking yesterday about where we might like to move when the time comes to leave behind the grit, the crowds, and the cost of New York. We're not ready yet, and we don't know where we'll go, but we've set a sort of timeline for ourselves: two more years. Some days I think I could leave this place and be happy about my decision, and other days I can't imagine being away from it forever. I think there must be a city in the US that has variety and culture, plenty of fun stuff going on like New York, a small town feel like Boston, a decent cost of living, land for owning and planting, and is geographically not too distant from our home state of Ohio. I dreamt the other night that I was taking a walk on an English moor, like this one.

I don't see us moving to Devon any time soon (although I'd love to visit, and hi Emily!), but it was a calming dream. I just want to go somewhere where we can own a big old house with a white-washed front porch, high ceilings, and creaky stairs, and where we won't have to wait 90 minutes for the crappiest table in a subpar restaurant in the East Village.

Here's hoping we find the perfect place.