Looking forward, looking back

2018: The year I dealt with my PTSD, moved across the country, quit a job without another one lined up and fell in love.

Though I didn't find myself out at a bar or in a club surrounded by tons of people, I'd say my leap into the New Year — literally, it's nerdy and I don't want to get into it, but it was literal — was pretty satisfying.

In taking some time to reflect on the last year, I started to realize all the things that I've experienced and gone through. I don't always take the time to do that, but I found a lot of strength in trying to sum up and recognize the past year in a few words. It was humbling.

I started the year in Arizona. I missed the East Coast badly. I enjoyed the work I was doing, but felt like I had lost myself in many of the challenges presented by the company I was at. I definitely grew in ways I hadn't expected, but I also felt defeated and that needed to change.

After a little searching, I threw out my application to places in New England, a few in Pennsylvania and even one in Oregon, on a whim.

Being on the other end of an interview was stressful, exciting and humbling, all at once. After looking at my offers, I decided to go for the place that scared me the most: York, Pennsylvania. I didn't know anyone there. And I had never been a business reporter. Besides the challenge, I took the job because of the woman that hired me. In the times that I talked with her, she oozed empowerment and pride. It seemed like a place that I could grow and feel like what I was doing might be valued and make a difference. What's more is when I told her I was weighing out my options, she didn't pressure me or try to dissuade me in the slightest. Instead, she told me that no matter what my choice was, that organization would be lucky to have me. That statement made a difference. Those simple words made me decide to move across the country again.

I gave a three weeks notice and stuffed my car with nearly a dozen vacuum-sealed bags and other odds and ends, and hit the road.

The day I left Arizona, it was unseasonably warm in Pennsylvania — nearly 80 degrees. That, however, was not the weather I endured on my traverse. Instead, I followed a snowstorm that struck Texas and followed the same path I did up the coast. My car was equipped with tires and tinted windows was designed to sustain extreme heat, so needless to say, that drive was super fun.

Despite my solo teeth-grinding ride, swaying from side-to-side as I passed cautious Texans, I was never really alone. Any time I'd hang up the phone (I used Bluetooth in the car, relax), someone else would call to check up on me. And when I’d get tired, someone was there to tell me it was time to take a break.

I’m not going to say I’m stubborn, at times, when I want to get something done, but I’m extremely stubborn. I certainly had to pee at one point during those 18 hours after my break in Texas, but I was not about to let some bodily function hold me up. Sleep, however, is a much stronger nag than anything else.

What’s more is that because I have low blood sugar, you can always tell when I’m crumbling. I’m a blabbermouth and I know it. I blame it on growing up in a hair salon, but truth be told, there’s always, always more that can be said – especially when you’re an empath. So when my sugar levels had depleted during the drive, it sounded like I was powering down. I’m there and then all of a sudden, the person on the other end of the phone is asking if I’m alive. I always am, for the record. That’s just my warning that I’m in need of nourishment or sleep and one way or another, my body is going to attempt to get what it wants – even if I’m trying to convince it otherwise.

Either way, when I finally pulled into York City, I was filled with emotions.