Life Changed, and Then We Changed

Reflecting on everything one year later.

A year ago I sat in my 300 square foot studio apartment and ate a bagel - toasted sesame with scallion cream cheese. I was surrounded by bright blue moving bags and an unshakable feeling that I was standing on the edge of a cliff. 

I had just lost my job of seven years three days before I was set to move. Isn’t it funny how life works like that?

It was the first apartment that was just mine. It was one of those apartments non New Yorkers scoffed at and said, “you’re paying HOW much for that tiny space?” But it was perfect for me. For us.

Giving it up was not an easy decision. Giving it up in the midst of losing my job was even harder. But something in my gut told me to press on, move forward, and keep going.

I listed all of my dollhouse-sized furniture on Facebook Marketplace, selling items for $50 that meant nothing to the stranger buying it but meant everything to me. My tiny hallway desk I was so proud of, the kitchen island I cooked so many meals at, the uncomfortable loveseat where Jacob and I had our (second) first kiss. I watched people shepherd everything out one item at a time, and wondered how much change was too much change.

Imagine this: in the midst of packing up your entire life, you’re going through a very public departure from the job most people know you from. Hundreds of comments, messages, emails, twitter threads, reddit posts – all talking about it, all talking about you. I stood in the corner of my apartment, refreshing my phone every five minutes as the movers packed up the last few boxes.

After my initial post announcing that I was being let go, I decided to say nothing. Journalists reached out, asking to tell “my side of the story”, but I deleted the emails without even replying.

I just got let go from a job. It wasn’t breaking news, was it? This happened all the time, right? But it felt like more. It was more. And now it was over, and I could either cry about it or move on.

A few days later I entered an empty apartment with my dog and the man that I loved. We opened the back door and let Simon see his first ever backyard. Simon zoomed around, ears back, tongue lolled to the side. He looked at us with the brightest eyes I had ever seen, not believing this was all really his.

Jacob and I brought two wine glasses and bought the cheapest bottle of red on our way over. He uncorked the bottle, pouring two heavy glasses. We clinked our glasses together, smiles on our face. Typically we make each other cheers to something – it could be as big as a new job or as small as a perfect sunny day. But we didn’t need to say this one out loud, couldn’t have put it into words if we wanted to – we were toasting to the unknown, not knowing what would come next but knowing that we’d be doing it together.

I wish I could have shown myself what this year would turn into. All the dogs we would help, all the friends we would make. All the milestones we would hit together. All the moments that are too small to even mention, but somehow make up an entire, beautiful life. Moments that collect like grains of sand in an hourglass. Moments that seem like nothing but amount to everything: countless dinners, long hugs after long days, steaming hot baths in the dead of winter, changing sheets, cleaning muddy dog paws.

It was all worth it, and then some. Life changed, and then we changed. I can’t wait to see all the ways I will change tomorrow.