Closing chapters is –for the most part, I think– a difficult thing to do. A couple nights back, I grabbed drinks with a friend at a local bar and talked about how helpless I’d been feeling to the constant wave of uninvited change that seemed to characterize my existence. We laughed about how silly the whole lot of it felt. You’d think that wrapping our minds around a concept as simple as change would come with ease, but the reality is sometimes the most obvious things in life take the longest to really sink in. Wether we like to admit it or not, we have to embrace that the only true constant we have is change, and no matter how much we tell ourselves we’re prepared to receive it, sometimes it just takes us by storm. The only thing left to do is  hope we make it out on the other side.
‍
So here I am tying.
‍
In the blink of an eye, I’ve closed both the last chapter of my latest relationship and survived the overwhelming exit of my very first apartment in New York City combined with the entry into the next. I’m winded to say the least. Yet hoping to catch some of the feelings as they make their way through, I’m sitting up in bed early this morning, propped up in a corner with my laptop ready to jot a couple things down. The bedroom I get to call mine now sits empty with nothing but a bed and a couple boxes scattered across the floor… it feels so big compared to the last one I used to share! Stray bits of sunlight slip through the foggy windows, bouncing up and down the walls, exposing even the tiniest of dust particles as they dance around the space. Everything is still yet simultaneously eventful.

If you’d asked me to describe myself in the context of change and the resilience required to bear it, I’m almost certain I’d use words like Prepared, Relentless or even Unwavering, but the truth is sometimes I’m anything but. Seems actions have spoken for themselves this time around, and having forced myself to take a mental health day for pause last Friday, I know that –at least for now– I’m not entirely okay. And that’s okay, too. Sometimes it just has to be.
‍
Not for lack of trying, I doubt I’ll successfully convey just how stressful finding a new apartment in this god-forsaken city can be. For a whole year, Sarah and I split a single bedroom unit, Jack & Jill style in the depths of south and vibrant  Brooklyn, in the true spirit of roughing it. Twelve quick months later, we’re a bit more financially settled and felt it might be time to find a more permanent space. Grateful to have found a trusty third, I’m excited to welcome our friend Alex, who interned alongside with us during our summer with MAIP. Kind and considerate, and ever so Mexicanly-polite, I couldn’t be more thankful to have found an extra soul to join along for the ride.

Over the course of some of the longest three weeks I’ve spent in the city, we’ve scouted, vetted, visited, and rejected over twenty different rental properties. Some too far from any major train stations, others too close to major noisy highways or unsafe neighborhood situations, and some just simply dysfunctional in structural design… I was really starting to worry that we’d run out of time and have to extend our lease.
‍
Here’s where I write about taking chances, folks. The first time we saw this unit, the previous tenants were still in the process of moving out, so we were only really able to see the kitchen/common area and one of the bedrooms. Completely unsure of what the other rooms might look like, we took a chance, and decided to move forward with our deposit (essentially removing it off the market and placing it on hold for the application). I was pretty nervous throughout the entire process, and took comfort only in knowing that this was the best option we’d seen in weeks. Shortly after the previous tenants moved out, the broker offered to show us the place again, and although were were essentially locked in the application process regardless of what the place looked like, I was dying to just see the full thing.

Talk about a lucky break. The space opened up to reveal a second formal living room, and two more incredible sun-soaked bedrooms that we hadn’t been able to see before… I was ecstatic. All of our stress was finally over. We proceeded to gather our application documents, and though we had one last *tiny wrinkle where our broker tried to shake us down for more money, we eventually secured the place and proceeded to move in the following weekend. What. A. Ride.
‍
As far as the end of my relationship goes, I feel as though there’ll never be enough words to write about how we feel at the beginning of a separation. I’ve met some of the most outrageous, awkward, particular, accomplished, and loving individuals on my dating adventures through the city, but none quite like this last one. I learned a lot about myself, and though I’m sad to walk away “empty handed” it feels like so much more than that. We give so much of ourselves in our relationships, and especially in a city as emotionally-consuming as this one, it’s incredibly easy to drown in the melancholy that a breakup produces. So here I am today, kindly submitting my letter of rejection.

If the city has taught me anything these last twelve months, is that we should jump into things fearlessly and wholeheartedly. And it absolutely begins with me. It’s 1000% okay to take a chance, put yourself out there, make an effort, and see if things work out. And it’s beyond okay that sometimes they just won’t. Edison failed more than 800 or so times before he actually nailed the first working lightbulb, yet somehow we’re convinced anything other than success is unacceptable when it comes to us? Think again. The beauty of it is that you get to try again. We pick ourselves up, durst off our scuffs, take a moment to mourn our losses, and when we’re ready, we try again.
‍
It’s just the way things go.

It’s interesting how sometimes the only way to see just how bad things were or weren’t, is to push right through them. Though I’d very much agree that processing this breakup is far from fully done for me, I can at least confirm that things do feel as though the worst of them has passed. For now, at least. Feeling homeless, as I leave both a meaningful person and a meaningful space that each redefined the meaning of home for me here in New York, I’m forcing myself to keep the hope, raise my chin, and spring into tomorrow with a head held high. After all, what else is left to do?

Change, whether welcome or uninvited, teaches us to grow and keeps us moving towards the us we’re very much on our way to becoming, I believe. And though it’s incredibly easy to think about welcoming this uninvited guest, in theory, I’m certain I won’t need to elaborate on the difficulty in practice behind this one. Truth is, we probably don’t welcome change the way that we wish we did. It’s uncomfortable, and almost always requires we adjust. But it’s necessary, trust me. When things change, we change, and if we’re paying close attention, we almost always do so for the better. Change is an opportunity to grow, and feeling one very shaken and unstable subject at the moment, I’m forcing myself to take this same advice. Things don’t always have to land at okay, and as long as you keep showing up for yourself, I think you’ll be just fine. That is my hope for you today.

Here’s to showing up, embracing change, and growing for the better.
Sharing some of our new digs this sunny Sunday morning.

More to come always,