I’ll be moving soon. I’ll be packing up and starting to live in this beautiful new house that I’ve worked so tirelessly on. I’m excited about it. I’m excited about my new, old house and everything it represents. I’m excited about a fresh start and about all the new memories that’ll be built in that place. And I’m also sad to leave where I am now.

I moved to this condo on somewhat of a whim. I loved the idea of being on the river, especially in such a tumultuous time. It was gated and there was a pool, and even though it wasn’t the most conservative of my options financially, I was pulled here. I envisioned what it would be like to sit out on that balcony overlooking the water and it was all of those things and more.

I’ve sat on that balcony so many times over the last year and stared out over the river. I watched downtown Monroe and listened to the sounds of cars passing by on the nearby bridges. Occasionally, I watched the train barrel by on that old, black bridge that I photographed so often. I didn’t know exactly what to expect when I moved here. I knew I needed healing and I hoped being near the water’s edge would bring that. I didn’t know to what extent and it was a very expensive form of therapy. Then I sat here for 14 months. I lived in this place and called the water’s retreat my home. I saw sunrises and sunsets and hundreds of beautiful landscapes painted by the sun. The clouds danced across the horizon, always reminding me of the beauty of things outside my control. With each passing day and each varied landscape, I accepted more and more of life’s surprises. I learned to loosen my grip on the reigns and let this wild horse take me where it will. I learned that life can still be wildly beautiful, even when we’re not in control, especially when we’re not in control.

A year and a half ago, I’d have never chosen this path. Even if it were presented to me in a tidy little package, I’d have stayed exactly where I was. I’d have chosen safety and comfort over the growth I’ve experienced in the last year. Then I’d have missed all of the sunrises. I’d have missed seeing those clouds dance across my view. I wouldn’t know the comfort of the sound of that train barreling through downtown. I didn’t get here willingly and yet I’m thankful for the sights and sounds and growth of this place. I’m thankful for the person I am becoming because of the process. I am so glad I chose this place, this retreat right in the middle of it all, to be my home the last year.

For now, I sit somewhere in the middle of excitement over the future and sadness over what I’ll be leaving behind. I slide back and forth between the two, not knowing which is the most prevalent of the feelings. I’m working hard to just take it for what it is — change. It’s the brink of a new chapter unfolding. The culmination of a time of transition. I don’t know fully what the rest of this year holds and I can’t even imagine what words will fill the next pages. For now, I’ll just sit tight, pen in hand, waiting to see what’s next. I’ll soak up as many sunsets and beautiful river views as possible and I’ll dream about the fun times that’ll fill the rooms of the new house. I’ll pack boxes and have a few last parties and I’ll sit, ready to see what’s next.