This morning I realized that the hotel I booked for Brooklyn tonight was actually booked for March 18 instead of April 18. It was a little bit straw-that-broke-the-camel's back, so I cried. I feel like I'm Project Managing a project without a ticketing system these days and the sheer volume of details required to get through this phase is staggering.
It reminds me of wedding planning. Blech.
I'd like to say I'm nostalgic and cuddly about New York, but I think I'm pretty much over it. Or maybe I'm over moving. That's probably more right.
I can't wait to get to California, where no one ever messes up the date of your hotel room and no cats ever need to fly on planes and no babies ever screw up their nap schedules. A girl can dream...
The other night Chris and I talked for a while on the couch about the move. I think it's easy to gloss over the opportunity to be proud. We got jobs. We made money. We bought our baby food and clothes and prepped his suitcases. We got our cats their vaccines and soft carriers and have reserved taxis to shuttle us to and from airports. A van is driving our stuff across the country right this moment.
When someone asks how we got to California, the answer on some level must be that we put one foot ahead of the other and did it ourselves. I am amazed that we are adults sometimes, that despite the incredible support of family and friends, WE are making our own lives happen.
We're grown-ups. We decided what to do. And now we're doing it. Thanks, New York, for being the place where we learned and practiced that spirit. We won't soon forget it.
See you on the other coast, friends.