Going home again
I’m moving back to New England soon and I couldn’t be more excited, but it also comes with a distinct sense of failure
Yesterday I gave my notice to move out of my current apartment after my corporate landlord emailed me an “offer” to stay in my current roach-infested place for an extra $280 a month.
It was the final straw in a slow build towards pulling the trigger on a move. I could stay in DC, but I’ve moved away from the in-person political reporting that first brought me to the nation’s capital in the first place, and my more opinion style commentary can honestly be done anywhere. Plus my kids aren’t getting any younger, and they’re back in New England, and well, I miss them.
I’m looking forward to experiencing the cool breeze of a New England fall again, and the old familiarity of the valley I went to college in. I’m looking forward to going to UMass sporting events again. I’m not looking forward to New England winters, however.
But moving away from the nation’s central power hub also makes me feel like a little bit of a failure. Like I couldn’t cut it and now I’m running back home.
There’s partial truth in that. I came to DC and became the first ever openly trans Capital Hill reporter. I even paid for my own move down south after the company that hired me refused to reimburse the move. But I was let go less than a year later and have been freelancing ever since.
And let’s be honest, I can freelance anywhere, so it may as well be somewhere familiar where I can be in my kids’ lives.
