So I finally moved out of home. Eighteen years and seven months later. It is not what I expected.
I mean in some regard I expected moving out to be kind of a smooth transistion? I’d made all the befroehand preparations but the most challenging part was that I hadn’t mentally prepared myself. Even getting on the flight I didn’t let myself think I was leaving.
To add context to my story, since immigrating to Australia I had lived in one small town for seven years. I have a strong support network there including my parents. I have my primary and my high school there and I have some of the best memories of my life there.
Now, I have to start from scratch. I haven’t formed genuine connections yet but that doesn’t mean I won’t end up with some of my best friends for life from this place. My body is constantly exhausted from all the new stimulants being thrown my way.
Moving out is not what I expected. But I’m grateful for this opportunity, I have an amazing 12th floor view from my new place, I have some of the best cheerleaders in my life and I know many people my age would kill to have this opportunity. So why is it taking me so long to find my peace? why aren’t I in love with this place yet?