i wasn't ready yet when we moved. i couldn't see our new life in my mind - the new light switch i'd be reaching for at night, the color of the front door. i didn't know what the water would taste like out of the tap.
those things matter when you leave a place. i needed to be able to see where i was going. and i couldn't.
but we moved anyway - and i was hollowed out by it. the dreaded empty apartment, the mewing cats on the plane, the months away from our books, sheets, couch. life resumed in a bland corporate apartment four stories high in minneapolis.
in new york, four stories is basically street level; it's not enough to see past the buildings around you, or to see the sky. but in minnesota? four stories is a skyscraper and everyday i'd wake up to gray gray gray all around in a lonely and heartbreaking march. but, like clockwork, every evening around 5pm, the sky would break into pink purple peach watercolors. months later, i met a meteorologist who explained that peak heat and sun in minneapolis is at 5pm due to it's northern position.
at first, everything new felt alien - a reminder that i didn't belong, didn't know. the water tasted weird, the flat sunlight felt oppressive, the lack of bustling crowds made me more lonely.
going back to new york frequently for work wasn't helping at first. the contrast strained my ability to pay attention to my new surroundings - all i could see in the first couple months was how minneapolis wasn't new york.