I Broke My Own Heart

A little over a year ago now, I chose to break my own heart.

It was five in the morning on the east coast. I carried two suitcases stuffed with all the belongings I could make fit, down to the taxi from my Hell’s Kitchen apartment.

It was then when gravity of my horrifically impulsive decision to move across the country—alone—finally sunk in.
⠀
Tears endlessly pouring out, as my dubious thought played on repeat, “I don’t know that I should do this.”

On the way to the airport, I called my friend, Rachel, just to ensure I wouldn’t ask the driver to turn around.

Everything in me wanted to. Everything in me was hurting, scared, uncertain, and terrified I was making the wrong choice.

A choice that was made in a week, and a choice that meant choosing uncertainty.
Choosing extreme discomfort.
Choosing to be alone.
Choosing to leave a relationship.
Choosing to say goodbye to the people and the city who changed me in so many necessary ways.
Choosing to ruin what I had to start completely over.
Choosing to escape to an unknown territory, with only hope that I could build something as beautiful as I had in New York.

A year later, and I can confidently say, moving to San Diego was easily the best unplanned, extremely impetuous decision I’ve ever made.

Sometimes the decision that’s going to break your heart and cause immense trepidation is the exact decision that will transform your life.

Thank you, San Diego and all the lovely people in it for making me feel at home ♥️ I love you.