THIS IS IT

   Thia ia it, a phrase that can be many things: a question, an assertion, a goodbye, etc.

  On April 1, 2025, I was accepted into graduate school at the University of Washington in Seattle. I thought it was funny that it was on April Fools' Day. I remember opening the portal and seeing the confetti; it was super anticlimactic. I didn't know how to celebrate because I didn't think I'd get this far. But, I think in that moment, things about my future became a little clearer. I remember the last days of my senior year worrying about what would happen between my girlfriend of two years and me, who would sublease my apartment when I moved after graduation, or what I would even do after college. Once I knew that I was moving to the West Coast, starting a new life became one of things to worry about.

  It felt surreal to have these things that I could only speculate about finally become my living, breathing reality. It was awkward between my girlfriend and me when we broke up. We’d talked about how if either of us were to move away we’d end things, and this discussion had happened many months prior. When she ACTUALLY sat me down and told me that “we should break up,” the first thing I could think of in my head was, “Ah, so this is how it goes.”

  I graduated from undergrad two weeks later and was ready to leave the South. Two of my roommates had helped me move stuff into my car, and we were lingering in the garage. I looked at them and gave them both a hug. "This is it," I told them. This was goodbye. This was the end of our time living together. Something I could only picture in my mind was now very real and clearly defined.

  I stayed in Denver for a few weeks with my parents. It felt like the person I spent four years being in college was now on life support in the room (my childhood room) of someone who I had been for the first 18 years of my life. I hated having to wait to start my "new life" in Seattle. At 21, I'd lived an entire life in Colorado, and an entire life in Alabama. I was so eager to start my new life in Seattle. It was all I ever thought about for months.

  I felt so young and inexperienced. I was about to move to a city that I’d only really been to once as a kid, and didn’t even remember very well. There was no old childhood friend waiting to see me in Seattle, no family or relatives excited that I was going to be living in the same city as them: I was alone, and it was just me.

   In my young life this definitely takes the cake for the thing I struggled with the most. It’s something I still struggle with. Moving here alone and not knowing anyone was such a challenge for me. Moving here without a job lined up felt like gambling with my future. Taking care of myself had never felt harder. I remember the first meal I had in my new apartment; it was a lamb kabob plate. I ate it on top of a pile of unpacked boxes and thought, “If I were to choke on any of this food and die, no one in this city or even state would check on me or wonder about my wellbeing. That would be it for me.” As morbid as it sounds, this was all I thought about in the first few months of living in Seattle. I had no support network.

  In June 2025, there wasn't a single soul in all of Seattle who could tell you who I was. I walked the streets, and I was whoever I wanted to be. I could secretly be a rich jerk, a tourist, a good Samaritan, or a vagrant. No one knew a thing about me, and it was up to me to put to pages the kind of person I was. For the first time in my life, I felt I could be anyone I wanted to be, and the thought that one day I would walk through these crowds and someone would recognize me for who I was about to become excited me. This will be my new life. This is it!