free again

I feel like I haven’t written to you in ages. And it’s been - maybe about week. But, to me, it does feel like ages. Time moves fast, change moves fast, and all of the sudden - everything happens all at once.

I have 10 days left in my apartment. Nothing is packed. I have 4 empty boxes stacked up against a living room wall, waiting to be filled with my drawers full of skincare. I keep forgetting that I need temporary storage. I keep forgetting that I also need to write out my final month of rent’s payment plan. But my taxes are done. My apartment has been professionally cleaned. I survived another Mother’s Day weekend. I think I found a new home for the summer. And for the first time in a long time, I’m starting to feel free again.

—

“Romance.” I tell my friend. Her and I are discussing our Word Of The Year. “Not romance in the traditional sense. But it’s more like - how do I romanticize every possible little thing in my life?” Last year’s word was receptivity, and I’m beginning to realize the co-relation between the two.

On one of me and my work best friend’s final shifts together - we talked about what we learned from our Saturdays. We both agreed that our younger selves were playing together in a different universe. But in this universe, we’re writing out our 5 - 7 step facial and body care routines together. The collagen, the vitamin C, the AHA masks, the gua sha, the plant-derived retinol. I’m writing out our evening affirmations. She’s picking out our binaural healing frequency track to listen to when we both get home.

“How important it is to take care of myself.” She tells me. “I think that’s one of the biggest things I learned while being here.”

—

In my final days in this apartment, I think about how - in the year and a half that I’ve been here, I’ve only let two men stay in my bed. I’ve only had two men over. I wanted it to be a healing space. I wanted everything to have some kind of intention behind it. One-night stands are easy and fun, but they can lack meaning and they can lack depth. So I was careful with this space, I was careful with this energy, and with my own energy, too.

This season is a contrast to last spring, and last summer. I Told You Things isn’t on repeat. I’m not forgetting to eat, I’m not vying for the attention of an emotionally unavailable bartender. I’m not really vying for the attention of anyone, for that matter. I’m here and I’m present. I tackle the admin and the adulting that comes with being a single girl in the city. I approach everything with an open heart, and I let my delusion lead me. I make my sparkly lists of gratitude. When I have extra money in my bank account, I will get my coffee with the extra $2 collagen. When the sun comes up, I will maximize my time with it. A morning walk through the neighborhood while everyone else is asleep. Focaccia and fresh flowers are a must, along with a latte with regular milk and 2 shots of espresso.

I like who I’m becoming. I love who I’m becoming.

I am figuring it out. But I am grateful. I am grateful for the spaces that allowed me to be who I needed to be.

And I am so, so, so grateful.

Emily