Moving Out

It has been far longer than is remotely reasonable since my last post. My apologies for the delay. I had quite a few things that I wanted to write about, and in fact did start writing about, but unfortunately the stress began to pile up faster than I had anticipated. I’m still learning how to use writing as a way of destressing, and one of the hurdles I still haven’t found a way over yet is the taboo that “rant writing” is somehow less valuable and less articulate than “objective” writing. (Disregarding the fact that objectivity is a perspective that has yet to be achieved by human beings.) The only posts that I’ve done thus far are very ranty posts, and I worry constantly that I’m not going in the “right” direction with my style, that I’m just another person on the internet with too many feelings.. And then I remember that I deliberately set this blog up as a safe space for talking about feelings. So, regardless if anybody likes it or not, I’ll continue to talk about my feelings and chew the scenery a bit. Even if it makes me feel like a hack.

(I’m not sure I properly understand the definition of the word “hack”, but I used it anyway. Does that make me a hack? Or does that make me a poser? So many questions.)

Way back in my first post, I mentioned that I was moving out of my parents’ house soon. Well, “soon” has shipped, sailed, and gone over the horizon. As I write this I’ve only just got my room into a sort of decent configuration that makes a fair amount of sense. My books are all still in boxes and the closet doesn’t have a hanging rod yet. The house is a bit of a mess, the nearest place that has Internet (where future me will undoubtedly be uploading this post) is the library a block away, and the washer and dryer are still on order.

All in all, not a bad start, if I’m honest. I’ve certainly been in worse situations. Hell, at least our place will have a dishwasher at some point in the near future instead of never in a million years. That’s what really matters.


Behold, Mankind’s greatest innovation.  It’s all downhill from here.

All jokes aside, I cannot remember a single moving event in my life more stressful than this one, and the reasons seem fairly straightforward. Before I’d even turned ten, I’d lived in at least eight different dwellings—houses, rental houses, farmhouses, apartments, houses still under construction, etc.—but none of those moves had been my decision. Even going to college, as hellish as that was, still wasn’t really my choice. The only reason I went to college is because my parents had impressed upon me (for the entirety of my childhood) that getting an education and living on my own was one of the most important things I could do as a developing adult. So I packed up my stuff and signed up for classes like a good little boy.

Do I regret going to college? No, not at all. I learned A LOT, but little of that learning was anything to do with classes or textbooks or professors pontificating at us from lecterns. In fact, the vast majority of my learning took place amongst “Other People.” You know, “Other People”? It’s a convenient shorthand for conflicting ideals and perspectives espoused by the animate meat beings that appear to be the dominant species on this planet. How that ever happened will remain a mystery for the ages. Or at least until I can hitch a bloody goddamn ride off this stupid rock.


My hero: Peridot, because, somehow, in spite of all the garbage that she was subjected to, she still found reasons to care about our stupid planet.  I’m still working on my own reasons.  I really wish I had a Steven Universe of my own.

But back to the actual topic. I think a large part of the stress is the realization that I’m finally starting to adult; I just started drawing up an Excel spreadsheet to track my expenses, I just had to drop $600 dollars to fix my car, and I’ve started collecting receipts to add up my monthly cost of living. Is this what being an adult is like? A never-ending cavalcade of bills, work, and only the most meager pockets of time for personal hobbies and pursuits? Don’t answer that question. It was rhetorical.

This is the first time in my life wherein I’ve actually made the decision to move out and live somewhere else. I got an apartment with some friends in college, but that was a groupthink decision, not something I came up with myself. This time, some friends gave me the option of living with them, and I chose to accept it, without any input from anybody else.  It was fully my decision.


In other words, this is all my fault.

As such, this was the first time in my life wherein I moved most of my belongings on my own. That was probably another non-zero contribution to my then-buckling stress loads, but I had some help moving the furniture, for which I’m immensely grateful. It’s very hard sometimes, in that moment of vulnerability when I’m receiving help, to truly appreciate the friends and family who are there for me, who want to help me with whatever it is I need. Stress compounds the distractions, and before I realize just how much the help really means to me its several days later and I’m scrolling through hundreds of names in a database at work. “Thank you” and “You’ve been a great help” are cheap and easy. The words don’t really convey the breadth of my feelings, which I’ve never been very good at anyway. I’ve been struggling with communication and expression my entire life, especially inferring other peoples’ moods and intentions, so I don’t expect to become a master anytime soon. But… it’d be nice if I knew any decent ways to show that I care that made me feel like I actually do care, and not like a massive poser who’s saying nice things to get free help moving his fucking bookcase forty miles.

I don’t actually know if they’ve invented ways to feel like that yet. At least, ways that aren’t manipulative or otherwise extremely unhealthy. I sure can’t think of any.

In any case, regardless of how I got here, I’m here now. I’m in a room, in a tiny house, in the middle of Minneapolis, with two people who have very kindly let me into their lives so I could get out of my own stagnant one. I’m getting a paycheck tomorrow, I’m planning on getting out and about this weekend, I have a library next door. I feel secure. I feel safe.  I feel… less stressed.  Still stressed.  Don’t think I’ll ever not feel stressed during the course of my life.  But, for the time being, I’m okay.


This is what a good start looks like.

This is a good start. A really, really good start, and an incredible privilege. I’m unfathomably lucky to have people in my life willing to give me this opportunity.

But I just wish I knew how to show it.


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