It was 4 years ago, today, that I arrived back home to move back in with my parents. At the time there was nothing I wanted less. The fact that I had been out in the world for 5 years really made me loathe that I was having to return home.
I felt like a failure.
I felt lost.
My life wasn't supposed to go that way. I was supposed to live in Florida, where my friends were, and work at a theatre and lay on the beach. Be one of the few who left my town and made something of herself. Instead I was going back to a summer job and retail. Besides my family, there wasn't anything for me at home.
I was too busy being bitter to see the big picture.
Less than a month later my aunt passed away suddenly. It was such a shock to our family. Yet, somehow through my sadness, a voice inside told me that this was 1 of the reasons that I had moved back home. She and I were able to spend time together. Time I wouldn't have had if I were living in Florida. It was a great comfort to me.
Looking back over the past 4 years I can't help but recognize the many many reasons there were for my moving home. The lessons I needed to learn. The people I needed to meet. The launchpad I needed to have in order to make a really scary decision that would become one of the best I've ever made. The me I needed to start getting reacquainted with.
It's safe to say that I would not be here in NYC, where my friends are, working at a theatre and still not laying on a beach, if it weren't for moving home. I think I would have settled with Florida and never made it to New York, which means I never would have fulfilled a lifelong dream.
Moving home 4 years ago was just a drop in the bucket. The ripple effect it had, and continues to have, was absolutely worth it and I couldn't be more grateful.
My bucket is now overflowing because of that drop.
