Tomorrow is my "Independence Day"

It's the day I moved out, and started learning how to live my own life again.

Technically, this is still a biweekly newsletter and I’m not due to send you another one until next week. But I want to share this story with you because it holds a lot of meaning for me. I hope you enjoy it!

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Tomorrow marks one year since the day I left the safety and comfort of Mom and Dad’s house in Seattle, Washington, and moved halfway across the country to a sight-unseen two-bedroom apartment in a town I’d never heard of, in a state I never thought I’d live in, with a population of only 250,000 people (many of whom are college students and only live there for 9 months out of the year), where our greatest claims to fame are:

1. We get more wind than Chicago

2. Hardly anyone outside of Texas even knows we exist

3. We just happen to be the hometown to one of the greatest rock n roll legends to ever die in a tragic plane wreck

4. We are hands down, per capita, the friendliest people you will ever meet anywhere in America (if not the world).

It’s not a lot, but… it’s enough.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Here I am with all of my worldly possessions in late December 2022, just a few weeks before my move-in date.

I’m pretty sure my parent’s driveway is bigger than my entire apartment! Just kidding… or am I?

(My office isn’t quite that clean on the daily… but I didn’t feel like tidying up just to take a more recent photo lol…)

But I didn’t move just to become a part-time interior decorator.

I moved because I’d been living with Mom and Dad for so long, I’d forgotten how to be independent… and I had the opportunity before me, and I knew in order to find the success I wanted, I’d have to learn, again, to make my own way.

Moving was hard. I spent a couple months just debating where I was gonna move to… and then another couple months planning what I would need, and praying about what I would do, to be responsible enough to manage my finances, embark on a new career, and remember to just feed myself every day - which is more of a challenge than I thought it would be, when you live alone and you haven’t figured out yet how to cook for just one person.

I had spent 14 years prior to this move hiding myself in my room above Mom’s garage. (I did not live in the basement! So at least there’s that.) Due to my PTSD, each year I spent at Mom and Dad’s I became more anxious, more withdrawn, and more isolated from friends and family, than the year before.

I spent months on end going to bed every night, hoping I wouldn’t wake up the next morning.

Everything had a whatever-the-opposite-of-a-rose-colored-hue is. My outlook on life was angry, and bitter, and full of frustration. Each day and week, I knew my life was slowly getting worse, and I was convinced it would never get any better.

Even when I started going back to church and found my first really good therapist (of which I’ve been incredibly fortunate to have many), I still just wanted it all to end. If I hoped for anything in those days, I hoped that maybe I could find some measure of peace as I lived out the rest of my life in total misery. I couldn’t hope that things could ever get any better. I was too far gone for that.

But slowly, as I allowed my therapist to work on my mind, and God to work on my heart and my soul, I started to have occasional good days.

I started to venture out into “society.” I went to the grocery store by myself, and the movies, and Wendy’s (I still think their burgers are the best - or maybe it’s just because I love their triple pounder). I started to step out of my safety net, and I started to learn that some of the things my trauma had told me about the outside world, just aren’t true.

And as I had more successes, and more outings, and started making more of my own decisions…

I knew I was miserable, where I was, because I wasn’t pursuing the life I wanted.

And I knew, for the first time in years, that the life I wanted… could just maybe, someday, some way, actually be within my reach.

And as scared as I was at the thought of leaving my parent’s house (not to mention leaving my parents, who I really love and who’ve done so much for me since my PTSD derailed my life)… I knew if I didn’t try - today! - to create the life I want…

I would never be satisfied.

I didn’t think, when I started planning my move, that I even could take care of myself. I mean, I fell apart simply packing my belongings into moving boxes, and had to plead with Mom and Dad to finish packing for me, because it was just more than I knew how to handle.

But with their help, I got through that. And somehow, with their love to carry me through, I got on a plane on Tuesday, January 10, 2023, (actually I had to take two planes), and flew all the way from Seattle, Washington, to Lubbock, Texas, to start my new life, alone with only the far away love of my family, and my faith in a God who never abandons anybody, to see me through.

In an instant, I’d gone from relying completely on Mom and Dad for all of my needs, to being 100% self-reliant and self-sufficient.

Suddenly I had to figure out how to balance a budget, how to pay rent, buy groceries, plan meals, make friends, make doctor’s appointments, find a new therapist, and learn to fit in, in a new church and a new neighborhood, in a town I never heard of until the day I decided to move here.

I had to figure a lot out those first few months! But I knew that, going into it. And I did my best to be prepared. Even so, there were a lot of difficult days. Some days, I came out on top, but some days, I stayed in bed and wondered why I ever left Seattle.

But 365 days later, I’m still here. And despite all the odds I’m thriving in my new environment.

I’m making friends. I’m meeting people at church. I’m making amazing progress in therapy. I get out of my apartment almost every day.

I went - by myself - to a four-day networking event for writers, in another state, and managed to take two planes, check myself into my hotel, show up each day for the event, and come away from it with hundreds of new friends and connections, many of whom I still keep in touch with to this day.

I’ve already had people tell me I’m an inspiration to them, and I give them hope.

And I’m only getting started.

But if I hadn’t listened to that voice that told me it was time to move… none of that would have happened.

I would still be living with Mom and Dad, most likely still spending my days going to the grocery store (okay I kind of have to still do that lol), going to the movies, and going to therapy, and nothing else. I would still be isolated and withdrawn, still stuck in my own head, with only the answers that I can come up with on my own to guide me (which, when you’ve got PTSD, are generally not good, healthy answers).

I would still be trapped in a miserable existence, watching the days go by, waiting for it all to be over.

Instead I’m happily - anxiously - engaged in a career and a lifestyle that give me purpose, direction, meaning, fulfillment, motivation, satisfaction - and success. Like, way more success than I think I deserve sometimes.

Sometimes, life really does give us lemons, and we have to drink boatloads of lemonade. But when we’re done getting beat down… and if we’re ready for a real change… and willing to move in a different direction…

The reward is the sweetest nectar you’ll ever taste: You get to know, deep down in your bones, what you’re truly capable of, and watch in real-time as your life evolves into something greater than you could ever think possible.

So many people do this, every day. This last year of my life isn’t the exception, in this case; it’s the rule. When you’re ready for your life to become more than you think it can be, that’s when you get to find out what you’re truly made of.

My bet is, you are made of greatness.

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Thank you for joining me on this journey! Feel free to share this newsletter with a friend or colleague you think will enjoy it.

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