Don’t Change Your Plans For Me

It’s official.  I’m moving to New York City.

Even typing that right now seems unreal.  One day after I broke up with Genevieve I got a call from a director at my company, a director with whom I had been discussing a possible summer or fall promotion.  Maybe a move.  Maybe to Chicago or San Francisco.  Dallas was another possibility, but I wasn’t really into Dallas.  Maybe I’d stay in Seattle and become a manager on my team.  

“I think I can make this happen sooner rather than later,”  He said.  New York, on June 1st.

When we had first discussed the change months ago, he had mentioned New York as a possibility and I had let myself dream about living in the city and being the kind of person who lived in the city.  THE CITY.

But I assumed it would end up being somewhere else.  It seemed like too much of a fairy tale.

“I want to give you the verbal offer this week.  And when I give you the written offer on the 23rd (he lives in Denver and wanted to give it to me in person), I want you to be ready to sign it.”


I am so excited, and I am incredibly terrified.  And it is time to move.  Blogs, I mean.  

Find me at – I will write about moving, trying to make ends meet in New York, and the surrealist experiences I have.  It probably won’t be as pretentious as it sounds.  Thanks for reading.


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