After trial and error and intense packing slash unpacking, I’ve lost my favorite shoe. This journey starts long before my arrival to Chicago but if I told the back story this might as well be called “This Time Last Year”, (which I must admit I gave some serious thought). I am nearly settled into my new apartment north of the downtown Chicago and I can’t help but wonder how on earth I got here. How on earth I got here without my shoe at that.
Sitting on a sheetless mattress in the middle of a room that’s covered in clothes is something I’m all too familiar with. I’m sure that I’m subconsciously leaving everything all over to remind myself this room is in fact my space. It’s been over a year since I’ve had my own room and nearly two since I’ve had lived somewhere without the parentals in the dining room. This feels nice.
Last week after spending almost 8 weeks in training, I hopped on a flight from Dallas to Chicago. I’d just graduated what felt like a combination of Big Brother and a sorority house to the join tens of thousands in the fun life of aviation. I’ve never wanted to be a flight attendant. Well, I can’t say never because I want to now so badly. However this time last year I wouldn’t have guessed I’d even apply, let alone follow through and get hired. The job idea was tossed around pre and post L.A. but I’ve always had my eyes dead set on an Oscar or private theatre company if I were fortunate. Moving out west put things slightly more into perspective. I drove from Ohio to L.A, realized most of the people I’d have to work with woudl annoy me (like any other job) and whilst trying to put my life together, I applied for a job I never thought would change my life. A job that would lead me to moving back across the county and sitting on a mattress with no sheets under a roof with two girls I met yesterday.
I could sit here and yap about how crazy the last year of my life has been but that’d be slightly annoying. Today is the beginning of my, yet another, fresh start in a big city. Maybe this time I’ll stay more than a year (doubtful) but nothing can prepare me for what putting my dreams on hold for a while will do for me. 50 places in 50 weeks sounds a little intense but it’s a good place to start, and then again.