On Moving Across the Country and Being Content

When I got the email, I knew I didn’t really have a choice. I was growing bored of my small college town and the fear of remaining there forever was stronger than ever as all of the people around me were graduating. I hated that I had already stayed this long after my own graduation. I was feeling stagnant; I was getting restless. I loved everything about my life as it was, except for the fact that there was no way it would stay that way. I had the urge to leave before everyone else did.

Naturally, I had applied for a job that was located as far west as I could possibly go: 2,500 miles to the San Francisco Bay... where I happened to have a friend with an open room.

I got the email on my 23rd birthday. My best friend had brought me to the middle of a field in my favorite park, and we unrolled a blanket and ate cheese and fruit and drank wine from boxes. I knew I would be getting the news–good or bad–that day. And despite the beautiful scene, I was bursting with anxiety. I wondered how I could want something so bad, but also not want it at all.

Mid-sip, my phone buzzed: “Hi Hannah, I’m excited to tell you that we would like to offer you…"

There it was. I got the job.

It all set in. A wave of relief coupled with a wave of terror washed over me. I immediately wanted to throw up. It would not be long before I had to leave the coffee shop community I had fallen in love with; it would not be long before I had to leave my family that I’ve never really been far from; it would not be long before I had to leave the man that possessed my heart. Despite the panic that quickly consumed me, I semi-reluctantly cleaned out the bedroom of my large Kent apartment and two weeks later, loaded my 2013 Honda Civic to the brim.

Soon we were on the road: me, my best friend, and our carefully mapped route. We started our four-day journey across the United States. The ride was filled with laughter, singing, high spirits and snacks. I could have stayed in that car with her forever.

But somewhere around the California state line, the exuberance that had held on to me so tightly quickly wore thin. I began to acknowledge the fact that soon I would have to take my beloved best friend to the airport, and send her back to our cozy Kent apartment that I would never again enter.

I’m a big believer in displacement and change and personal growth, but for the first few weeks of being here on my own, I felt ill with homesickness. And instead of enjoying this new, exciting life, I was fixated on my past. I felt like I made a huge mistake. To make matters worse, not long after I arrived, my sweet boyfriend called to tell me he was no longer interested in putting his efforts into staying in my life. Although it crushed me, I didn’t really expect much else. It’s not like we had made plans to see each other again.

My mind immediately became occupied with escape plans to get me back home or valid excuses to make another huge move alone to someplace else. I was craving that feeling of being on my way to somewhere new and exciting. It wasn’t until my mom advised me to “just do it, leave, come home” that I realized that’s not what I really wanted. The restlessness I was feeling strongly resembled the discontent I was feeling back home.

I went into this whole thing expecting to grow. I chose to dramatically displace myself because I thought I would become a better person from it. I thought it would solve my problems. I thought I would immediately have some epiphany that would bring me some insight about my place in this world. Only now am I realizing that I do need a change, but perhaps not geographically. I’m learning that my only real chance at happiness is to find content with what I already have and where I already am.

[Photo by Juliette Kibodeaux.]

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The End of An Era: Saying Goodbye to Windrose

Hi friends,

Announcement (sounds so formal, doesn’t it?):

It's the end of an era.

I’ve decided that, after nearly 8 years of telling stories of navigating life, this season of Windrose is drawing to a close.

Even Here: Words for When You're Wandering

When I was 22 years old, I visited the desert for the first time.

A metaphorical desert, if we’re getting technical.

I was fresh out of college, starry-eyed and eager to begin my post-grad life. I had big ‘ole me-centered dreams: a shiny, brag-worthy PR job in the music industry! An apartment with an exposed brick wall that (somehow) would fit an upright piano! A committed relationship with a kind, goofy man!

I got exactly none of those things.

To summarize an entire year’s worth of emotion: I was devastated.

What is Home?

Late last night, I flew back into town after a week away, the city lights covering the Valley like a blanket of incandescent flowers. I’ve flown into Phoenix at least a dozen times at this point. Usually, I can identify a handful of landmarks, like my antenna-scarred South Mountain or the twinkling lights of the bridges spanning Tempe Town Lake.

Flying into Nashville, however, was always different.

I Don't Live Here Anymore

I recently returned to Nashville for the first time since moving to Phoenix five months ago.

Before my reunion, I often said that the word “home” could apply to both Nashville and Phoenix. Nashville is my home. Phoenix is my home. I could find that home-sweet-home feeling in both cities.

During my 8 days back, I frequented my old haunts. The brickwalled coffee shop still serves the meanest mocha in town. The hillside winery still proves to be a worthwhile spot to sip away a sunny Sunday afternoon. The hip burger joint still offers a lovely evening to dine with friends, new and old. The lime-green Mexican restaurant on the corner of Whitebridge still feels like a queso-soaked refuge.

There were many “stills,” but there were changes, too.

Why did you move?

A cardstock print sits propped against the lamp on my desk: a taupe watercolor swipe outlining a peakside Saguaro, the sun a tiny ring above. Beneath this minimalist illustration are these words in typeface: “I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

I happened upon this notecard-sized print on the way out of a shop last weekend, after already having completed another purchase. It was the last print of its kind in the pile. I had to have it. I returned to the cashier: “This one, too.”

You see, this verse has been a thread weaving through my story, simple words spoken by a prophet long dead, a passage of comfort I’ve returned to again and again since my pilgrimage to the desert four years ago, when I inked a cactus on my wrist.

The Good Old Days

Last week was National Margarita Day.

I did not, however, celebrate the holiday. Truthfully, I’ve yet to find THE Mexican place here in Phoenix. You know the one: gaudy decorations, cheap food, even cheaper margaritas.

But there’s a Mexican restaurant at the corner of Charlotte and Whitebridge in Nashville, TN.

You may have heard of it.

Witching Hour (or, Fighting Off Demons at 3 am with a Box Cutter)

Between the hours of 3 - 4 am, I find myself awakened by nothing in particular. The room is silent. There is no sound outside. No loud car horns. No dogs barking.

I’m upset.

I wish it was something other than just me. Then I could stop it. Nothing is to blame. It feels like moments have passed since I closed my eyes. The moments of a long dreamless sleep last about 4 hours.

10 Life Lessons This Cross-Country Move is Attempting to Teach Me

There are a few lessons life has attempted to teach me since my move — all things that I haven’t yet spiced up into a full essay, but deserve to be memorialized by my metaphorical pen nonetheless.

So I present a collection of lessons I’ve learned — and am still learning — in the last 3 months.

What Will Your Life Look Like?

Tomorrow marks 3 months.

Three months here, sharing a zip code with Saguaros.

“So how is Phoenix?” a friend asked me over the phone as I sat on my balcony beneath glowing string lights, a pour of raspberry wine in my hand. The sun was setting, painting the eastern mountains with rosy swipes of redemption.

How has Phoenix been these last three months?

What is it Trying to Tell You, if Only You’d Listen?

I went on a date recently. Two glasses of Riesling, pleasant conversation, and a perfectly amicable guy — it was an altogether fine evening.

However, I wasn’t interested in a second date.

Not because of any run-for-the-hills red flags. Not because I didn’t think he was cute. Not because we didn’t get along. I simply — wasn’t interested.

There’s no better way to explain it. No fear-based avoidance of the potential for a healthy relationship. No disdain for commitment that needs a heavy round of therapy to work through. Nothing deeper than the inner sense that a second date just wasn’t necessary.

But, I said yes to getting dinner again with him.

The Other Side of Yes

I’m a No Girl.

In many ways, this is a good thing. I’m able to confidently decline invitations that disinterest me.

“Want to go whitewater rafting?” No thank you, I’m comfy right here on the bank.

“Want to do a shot?” No thank you, I’ll take my liquor with lime juice and Triple Sec, plz.

“Want to try this carrot cake?” No thank you, Harry, I can’t eat gluten.

“Want to go to Broadway?” No thank you, I’d prefer to go to bed.

In many ways, however, being a No Girl originates less from personal boundaries and more from fear. Fear and I happen to be pretty tight; we talk on the daily. Fear has been the primary consultant for many of my life decisions, in fact.

A Song for Growth

A year ago, a friend of mine got a job at a well known tech company. He had been slogging through the interviews, and he finally got an offer. Obviously he deserved it. He was a hard worker, and his attitude for success and life was admirable to say the least. I knew he was beyond qualified.

But at the time, I was on a career path I couldn’t see myself being happy in. I had made the mistake of staying in the industry mainly for the money. Every month in the industry was a reminder of how much I did not want to stay. It created a nasty cycle of overthinking and career angst. Feelings of inadequacy and existentialism rooted themselves deep inside me. I couldn’t focus on anything and was utterly disconnected from the work I was doing.

I admit I wasn’t happy for him.

Life, DreamsHannah ReedOctober 20, 2016Featured1 Comment

On Moving Across the Country and Being Content

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