On Moving Out

You all know my story by now. 

Or, if you don't, you've at least heard the same storyline.

Top-notch college grad can't find a job, and is forced to move home with the parents. Times are tough. Jobs are scarce. Living at home is less-than-ideal. 

All of these things were true for me, a 2010 Cum Laude college grad who found herself -- bitterly and miserably -- living back at home in Westchester with her parents when no jobs could be found. 

Truth be told, I never expected to be unemployed for as long as I was. I put in time volunteering and interning, yes -- but also complaining, moping around the house, and resentfully tagging along to dinners and movies with my parents. 

Months began to pass, and I fell into a routine that I said I despised: picking out the vegetables at the grocery store with my mom, piling trash in the kitchen on Tuesday-Garbage-Days and yelling answers out at the television, trying to beat my dad in Jeopardy.

I had friends who lived in "flats" and "walk-ups," with jobs that sounded awesome and interesting. Roommates who were boyfriends, or girlfriends, or just really cool people-- but not their parents. And I wanted that so very badly.

Last week, while splitting a thin-crust pizza with my Grandma, I received a job offer. My first job offer. And the first person I called to tell was my mom. 

I rushed to Home Depot -- not once, but twice -- buying moving boxes and shipping tape of all different varieties. I packed to country music blaring through the house, labeling my things with chunky, bright-colored markers.

I taped up Box Three and stacked it in the hall, happily singing along until I walked back into my emptying bedroom.

I realized that it would never look the same.

This is the bedroom that I got dressed for the prom in. The bedroom where I proved to my mom that, really, three girls can have a sleep over in my bed. The room where I opened my college acceptance letters, and the room where I was banished to when I talked back. Now I am hallowing it out, leaving behind stacks of edited resumes and GRE books piled on top of old yearbooks.

I have spent the past nine months desperately seeking unemployment. I had thought these months to be a waste. Now, I cherish them deeply. 

I am grateful for the opportunity to have gotten to know my parents again, at this age. I am grateful for their support, unwavering as I blew interviews and piled up rejections. I am grateful for the chance to have taken my dog on long walks, the kind I used to take him on before I started worrying about college applications. 

I have loved grocery shopping with my mom, the both of us laughing as I sometimes skipped -- yes, really -- down the aisles. I loved coming home in the summer to find my brother home from college, playing video games with all his friends in the "man cave." And even though I pretended I didn't want to be there... I loved that family vacation down at the Shore. Really. 

As I finally move to Washington D.C.,  something I always wanted to do, I am full of excitement and joy, but also sadness as I know this house -- my childhood home -- won't ever be my home again.

This is my love letter to you, parents. Love and gratitude. If all goes right, you'll be reading this on my first night in my new sublet in Washington. And you'll know that I am so grateful for the time that we have spent together, and that -- really! -- I will miss you, and living at home, tremendously. 

Take care of our dog for me. And call me when Jeopardy is on, if you want to play over the phone. 

And don't worry... if you miss me too much, I can move back in... right?

Thank you for everything. I love you.