The streets were quiet and deserted except for a handful of dedicated runners as our tiny Jeep crawled around Lincoln Park in southeast D.C. for the last time. It was early and the sky was still dark, causing confusion as to whether it was day or night. As we headed for the western-facing highway, my heart felt tugged by sentimentality and a renewed fondness for the place we were leaving. Perhaps the impending absence of our cozy, delightful Capitol Hill neighborhood was making my heart fonder. Funny how this happens.
This departure from Washington, D.C., has been pending for a while now, a couple months actually. Feeling the uncontrollable urge to move back west has been overwhelming for both my husband and I so we knew it was time to end our chapter in D.C. and start a new one in a new place. So where are we headed? To the land of hipsters, of hippies, of green, lush wilderness, of microbreweries, and of coffee shops: Portland “the Rose City” Oregon, of course.
Yes, as I write this on a blue-skied, chilly Monday morning, my husband and I find ourselves unemployed, driving through western Pennsylvania in our stuffed-to-the-brim Jeep, with only a short-term lease to our name in Portland. We have one friend there, a small apartment, and no jobs, but we couldn’t be more excited or more ready. Most people we’ve told our plans to have said we are either “awesome”, “crazy”, or “lucky”. As for “awesome”, sure, maybe.“Crazy”? Probably. “Lucky”, no.
We’re bravely choosing to start a new chapter, rather than waiting for the chapter to choose us.
So here we are, crossing the country one state at a time (7 today alone!), all in the name of Taking Risks, Being Brave, and a dash of YOLO rationale. Since we’ve chosen to up and leave our comfortable D.C. apartment, our great neighborhood (which I’m missing already), and stable jobs, there have been several times when I’ve wondered what we’re actually doing, if it’s wise, smart, really dumb perhaps, idiotic. But regardless of what word is most accurate, I like to say that we’re being brave.
Being brave looks different for everyone. Being brave for you might mean staying exactly where you are, in a job that’s tough, or in a new city that is intimidating. You very well could be more brave in your present circumstance that I will ever be and for that I totally applaud you. For now, for me and for my little family, our “brave” looks like driving through the hillsides of Pennsylvania en route to the Land of Hippies, our new homefront.