More on the Move

While the move was an insanely busy, hectic, anxiety-filled and SWEATY day, we wanted to document as much of it as possible. Neither of us has ever lived with a significant other, and as far as we're concerned, this is a one-shot deal and a pretty big milestone in our relationship and  both of our lives.

Unfortunately, moving is not even remotely conducive to picture taking, but before I share some of our progress in putting the place together, how about a peek at the hot mess where it all began?

First trip up into the new place with my stuff, circa 10:30 AM. Little do I know what I have in store for me once the movers actually show up...as evidenced by my happy face.

Flash forward to 5 AM, finally done with the movers, some unpacking, and got the kitchen table out of the living room. Clearly a call for celebration. 

So much love for my new 50mm lens. 

 

 Being goobers with self timer.

 

He was probably saying something obnoxious about me using this for the blog - or I was laughing at his horrendous hat hair. You decide.

On a much more somber note...

Today always brings bittersweet memories for me. On the September 11th, it was my first day of high school. For many, this day was inconsequential when they woke up in the morning; a day just like any other when a major event that would change the course of history was entirely unexpected. I almost feel fortunate that I will never forget this day for more than one reason. While it marked what I now see as the passage into my adulthood, it will never overshadow the events that came to pass on that fateful morning. In fact, looking back now, they truly went hand-in-hand.

I had all but made it through homeroom and my first class before word got to our teachers that they should bring us all to the auditorium. I remember them being confused (this was pre-iPhone days, so we were all in the dark) - already overwhelmed by the new crop of students, but I remember hoards of us walking across the quad (I went to a small private school) and into the dark, basement auditorium - freshman nervous and confused, upperclassmen grateful for the break and taking stock of the fresh meat. But when our headmaster began to relay what had happened, we were all brought down to the same level. We were ALL scared. All of us had friends and family in New York, or flying that day, or working for the military. We were all silently afraid for our own lives. And in that moment, I knew I was coming into my own. 

I shed a tear or two, and to this day, I can't pinpoint quite why; I was fortunate enough to not lose anyone in the wreckage. But I felt so on my own - being treated as an individual. Had I been in middle school, I know the news would have been broken differently; we likely would have been released to our parents. Instead, we were released to our teachers in small groups to talk about how we felt; a direction I had rarely received from an adult in my life. They truly wanted to know what we were feeling, and they shared their own personal prayers and concerns. It was the first time I felt like one of them. And though for the next four years many of them were my instructors and I heeded their rules and met their deadlines, I never felt like a child again. I owe a lot of this to an amazing school and spectacular teachers (and the incredible friendships I made there), but I know that this appreciation could have taken months, or even years, had it not been for the deeply emotional foot it all started on. 

Each year on this day, I remember exactly where I was, how I felt, and how it changed me. And while I still feel the pang of tragedy, I am continually more and more grateful for how for this country has come since then, and how that day changed me forever.