Last Friday, I boarded a flight from Dulles to Amsterdam, marking the beginning of my official move out of the United States. Though I won’t move to London to start my master’s degree until early September, July 31st was my last day in the US for the foreseeable future. I have no return flight booked, and no concrete plans to come back.
I have been dreading leaving DC; while it is always bittersweet to move on, this is the first time I’ve left a place I actually wanted to stay in. I lived in Lincoln for eighteen years and Northfield for four, and by the end of those chapters, I was ready to go. While moving abroad and building a community from scratch has always been my dream, I don't feel the same disdain for DC that I felt toward the Midwestern towns of my past.
I think these fond feelings towards DC come from it being the first place I was actually happy. I tried so many new things and learned so much about myself living there; I started to run, lift weights, swim, and bike everywhere. I became a physically and mentally stronger version of myself. I leaned into resilience and grit and my identity became my perseverance. I learned how to buckle down and chase after the things I wanted. When I first moved to DC, I didn’t speak a lick of German and yesterday I had a 15 minute conversation with my taxi driver in Berlin. I learned that most progress, especially in the realm of language learning or exercise, is just a function of time and consistency. And while one can certainly make progress in these areas alone, it is ultimately the people I met with weekly to speak German, go on a run, or hit up a yoga class with that made my progress in these areas so meaningful. Above all, DC is a place where I met so many of the people that shaped who I am and that I have been so lucky to share so much of my life with.
I’ve had to say so many teary-eyed goodbyes throughout my 3 years living in DC. It’s an incredibly transitory city, especially the Fed RA community; every summer a swath of RAs leave while a new cohort comes in. Summers there were always wonderfully chaotic. Most weekends were full of either housewarmings, goodbye parties, or both. It makes one really confront rebirth and the cyclical nature of life, and has meant that each year I lived there was defined by completely different relationships, which invariably shaped my habits, interests, and hobbies.
The two months leading up to my departure were the most fun months of my life, so much so that they made me forget why I was leaving in the first place. June and July were filled with love, laughter, and long nights with my best friends. What surprised me most about these months was how my personality changed. Without realizing it, being around people started to energize rather than drain me and the chaos of my life melted away the rigid and hyper-organized layer of my personality. I said yes to every social plan and took risks I normally wouldn’t. I think we ought to live life as if time with our loved ones is running out more often - I strengthened and built so many bonds during these two months that I otherwise would not have explored.
The uncomfortable truth, however, is that when the summer heat fades and the leaves turn, the spontaneity that infects DC during the warmer months tends to dissipate. The first cool fall breeze brings a slower pace of life, which is often a relief after a nonstop summer. But halfway through my third winter in DC, I knew it had to be the last. I came to realize there is no reality in which I can grow in the ways I truly want to while continuing to live in the United States. I crave relationships in other languages, worldly perspectives, and access to an international network. I want my inner circle of friends to encompass multiple nationalities and I want the challenge of setting up bank accounts, finding apartments, and going to the doctor in other countries. I want my work to reach beyond domestic policy and I want to have endless travel stories to share. I also know that if I don’t leave now, I likely never will.
The conviction to leave does not outweigh the pain, though. I sobbed myself to sleep nearly every night during my last week in DC and the first few days in Europe. The emotional sting of leaving is uncomfortable, but I’m trusting that the pain of the regret associated with staying would have been unbearable later on. I’ve had to think a lot about my 30 year old self in making the decision to move: I could stay in DC and build a life there, but I would always wonder if I would be happier, more fulfilled, and better off abroad. I’m not sure what the next few years of my life hold, but it’s important to me to at least say that I tried to live out my dreams. Accepting risk in this way is challenging, and I’ve had to remind myself over and over throughout this transition period that the growth stemming from discomfort is really what I’m chasing.
During my last few weeks in DC, I said so many gut wrenching goodbyes, many of which caught me off guard. Sometimes it is the relationships you’d never expect that will really tear you apart the most: the early-stage friendship you could have seen growing into a best friend, the coworker who you were almost friends with outside of work, the summer fling that could have been something real. Every time I leave a place, I end up grieving way more over what could have been than what actually was. The relationships that were actually built strong enough to withstand major change will stay alive, but the burgeoning relationships are effectively dead the second you leave.
Consider this my love letter to DC, what a wonderful three years it truly was. I will always miss my commute to work through the national mall, the way the sunlight shines through the stained-glass windows in our living room, and the bike ride from Capitol Hill to Eckington early on Sunday mornings in the summer. I became so much of who I am in DC and am eager to see what this next chapter holds.
