A Connecticut Yankee in the Blue Ridge Mountains

I could call this post, “How I worked up the nerve to finally move exactly where I wanted to live.” Another apt title would be, “How I stopped pretending to be something I’m not” (i.e. a city girl). But those don’t have the same Mark Twain-inspired ring to it.

Small steps can lead to one giant leap, and that giant leap is to the location and lifestyle I’d wanted for a long time.

This short post, in honor of it being just over two years since that big move, is less about the new place I started calling home than about taking big leaps of faith in life when you get the chance–or, more accurately, when you give yourself the chance.

In my former city, I left a wonderful job with a “work fam” most people would envy, a great apartment in one of the most desirable neighborhoods in town, and friends and family nearby. I made some amazing memories there.

So (you may be wondering) why in the world would I leave? Why would I move, when I only lived there for about two years? Had I really given it a fair chance?

Short answer: I’d been doing the northeastern city thing for years. It was cool in my 20s when I was excited to take on the big city, but then it became, well, less cool. For me, the cost of living, pace of life, crowded-ness (especially on public transportation), traffic, and cold weather wore me down.

And I started listening to myself. Would I be comfortable staying in my current city, living there longer-term? Sure, I guess. Would I be happy? Possibly.

But “I guess” and “possibly” don’t cut it. It was a nice life. But it wasn’t my life.

I didn’t want to wake up in a year and still be in a city where, sadly, the feeling of dislike had started to creep in. I’d loved that city and still do (I’m talking about Boston, by the way), so I never wanted to put it in the “I hate this place” category that New York had ended up in years ago.

Most importantly, I didn’t want to hit my mid-thirties and not recognize my life anymore.

It was time to go.

But where? The answer, it turned out, was easy: It was a place tucked into rolling green mountains that had been on my radar for quite some time. It was simple–so, so, simple. Sure, there were a lot of steps I’d have to take (find job, find apartment, sort out a bunch of stuff in the northeast, etc., etc., etc….).

But after I got started, it wasn’t as overwhelming as I thought it would be. Interview, job offer, apartment hunt, moving company. Once things were in motion, I was absolutely blown away at how quickly things started falling into place. (I took that as a sign that I was doing the 100% right thing for me.)

Was it easy? Heck no. Was it sad to leave? Yes, primarily because of the people I met during my time there and the little things about Boston I knew I’d miss. I had Leona Lewis’s “Happy” on repeat that spring, a song which I more or less interpret as being about taking a chance and changing things in your life, despite the difficulty, for the sake of your own long-term happiness.

Would I have regretted not taking that chance? Absolutely. Moving was one of the best decisions I’ve made in my life.

So, to sum it up: Listen to your gut. Take that chance. It might not happen again.