SM sent in his applications for graduate schools of journalism back in December, and time has been indiscriminately rushing by ever since. Of course, he was accepted into all four schools to which he applied — Medill at Northwestern, NYU, Berkeley, and Columbia University. By March, he had whittled the list down to the two best, Berkeley and Columbia, and we headed west to check out Cal on March 17.
It was both our first real vacation together, and our first times in California. For me, it was my first time west of Mandan, ND. I had a blast. Check out my iPhone pictures. One thing that stood out to me, though, was just the feeling of isolation; it was palpable. I felt that moving to California would be a conscious choice to leave my friends, family, and connections to a certain life that was buzzing about on the east side of the country. They are on a different frequency there that felt good just as much as it felt somehow selfish. Anyway, by SM's second day of admitted student activities, I was having a bit of a panic attack about being so disconnected. My pictures of California, I told him, were full of beautiful places; my pictures of New York were filled with my friends.
In the end, SM settled on New York, but necessarily on his own terms. In mid-April, we visited NYC for the Columbia admitted students weekend, and by the second day he was sold by the prestige, the challenge, and the job opportunities afforded by Columbia's Graduate School of Journalism.
And so on July 2, we shipped our things and left Chicago on a train. And I've been in limbo ever since.
I definitely feel less isolated than I think I would had we moved to Berkeley, but at this point, 8 days after leaving SM's childhood room in Goshen and moving into our new place on 30th and 9th, and 17 days after pulling out of Union station, I still feel like my feet have yet to touch the ground. I don't like it. It's not as much that I miss Chicago — I do miss certain parts, certain people — as much as I haven't fully grounded myself here in New York. And I'm not exactly worried as I am impatient; I want this feeling of detachment to be over. It makes me sad.
I wonder if I felt this way in college, when I first moved to Chicago. It's the only other time in my life when I've made the leap into such new territory. Maybe not, though, because I thought I knew Chicago, and of course I didn't, but I thought I did. It's strange. It will probably just take some time and some walking around and some feeling that I know this new place. It will probably also take some more detachment from Chicago: a new job would probably go a long way, for example.
I'll let you know how this turns out.
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