Good times. Good vibes. Good company.

17 September, 2018

Third Time's The Charm

Man, a 7 hour flight is nothing!! It was such a crazy, beautiful feeling to see all of the cute colonial houses, the rowing lodges and the sailboats out on the river as we made our approach.  After all of this lead up, I was finally back Stateside and ready to begin my new life in Boston.  Of course, the problems weren't quite over yet as for the first time in a good 10 years my dual citizenship was brought into question, my US SIM card wasn't working leaving me unable to secure an Uber and all of my luggage had to be sifted through going through Customs & Immigration.  Thankfully getting a taxi wasn't an issue, nor was locating my Airbnb but man, I felt blessed to have made it to Cambridge in one piece!! And I thought London cabbies were crazy drivers!! LORD ALMIGHTY HE DROVE FAST!!! I was welcome with a big hug from my sweet host, an elderly lady named Polly, so happy to finally see me after so many unexpected delays.  

I threw my luggage into my cute, very Bostonian room and headed off to Harvard Square to pick up a few basic necessities for the next few days.  I quickly located Chipotle (wuhahaha) and a CVS with ease--something I'd all but forgotten what felt like after that trip--and an adorable and tempting wine, beer and cheese shop to grab a much-deserved bottle of cold rosé to enjoy out on Polly's porch.  My immediate impression of Boston was just that everyone and everything seemed, yes, superbly East Coast (duh) but also just very wholesome.  I'm so happy that I walked into Harvard Square (with what energy I do not know) because you do just get to see an area much differently on foot and it's such a a beautiful area.  With the old house, the parks, all the little boutiques, cafés, restaurants,  Harvard merch galore, it strikes me as being a really lovely area and I'm so glad I chose to stay here to flat-hunt and setup everything.
Here’s hoping ‘third time’s the charm’ applies just as much for this city—the third time I’ve uprooted & relocated myself to a place without knowing a soul—as it did for the amount of flights it took for me to get here.  I couldn’t help but feel that the immense amounts of stressful obstacles I’ve encountered in these past few months, leading up to what should have been my moving day and continuing on even after I’d landed, were signs from the universe telling me not to go. That even with all of the blood, sweat & tears that, although often seemingly synonymous with a move of this calibre, were too much & that it simply wasn’t worth it.

As excited as I am to start afresh and anew back Stateside, so much closer to my baby nugget, I can’t help but feel as though I’m leaving my whole world behind.  How eight years have passed since I made the decision to move to Denmark at age 15 to pursue the IB in Nyborg, I don’t know. What I do know is how forever thankful and grateful I am for all of the experiences and people that came along with that decision and I couldn’t imagine who I’d be without them.
I miss everything down to the smallest detail so much already, leading me to believe that I’ll be back on the right side of the Atlantic sooner rather than later but until then, ‘Murica better watch out because as neurotic and permanently exhausted as I may be both emotionally (& definitely physically at this point) I made it here & that counts for a whole hell of a lot.


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