Every time I move, I use it as an excuse to re-organize my whole life. I edit my vast collection of products, give books to friends, and toss out half-burned candles and bits of colored paper I thought I'd use in art projects. I don't move unhandled projects or paperwork. I donate clothes.
I strive to live with less. Something I heard frequently as I prepared to hike the Appalachian Trail was that people are often astonished by how little they actually need.
I rolled my antique champagne glasses in yesterday's Post and gently stacked my favorite novels into a box. I dismantled my curtain rods and made a list of utility companies to call. It took three car trips to carry everything from Alexandria to Eastern Market. Anything more than that I would have set on fire.
Lost in the tedium of it all, I forgot to remember that Tabitha and Sarah, two girls who have been my friends since almost the very day I moved to DC, are leaving. My life is going to be quite different now.
My new room mates are fantastic, but I can't escape noticing that most of the girl friends I've made since moving here have since moved away. Perhaps that's just the transient nature of DC—very few people are actually from here, especially those in politics, and many don't stay for more than a few years.
Today I arrived to my office almost an hour earlier than usual, latte from Pound in hand, after a brisk 4 block walk from one door to the other.
There is absolutely nothing about my life right now that I'm not wholly and completely thrilled about.
Friday night my firm had our annual holiday party and everyone took turns saying a few words about the year. Being the horrifyingly awful public speaker that I am, I said something about being fond of every single person in the room. I failed to say that every day I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. I didn't mention that when I moved to DC, I had a limited idea of what sort of job I wanted and never dreamed I would love my work this much.
I'm approaching the new year having accomplished more in the last twelve months than I ever dreamed possible.
Our row house is solid and charming, full of mismatched fixtures and drafty windows.
I'm in love.
