Flashback: A Post I Wrote When My Ex Moved Out

Many things have changed, but this is a good reflection.

I lived in the apartment pictured above since July 14, 2014. I moved out this past Tuesday, a heaping mess of emotion and sweat oftentimes carrying items as disparate as a plunger, two sponges, and a dog blanket.

The day I moved out was a day shy of the 14th anniversary of the day I graduated from college. Right after that, a bunch of my friends and I met in upstate New York for kind of like a “guys weekend and who knows what will happen going forward” deal. I was moving to Houston. Another to Arizona, another to Virginia, etc. It wasn’t going to be the same.

You know in moments like that, people talk about the future and what could happen, and yea, throughout that weekend, there were discussions of where life will be in 10, 15, 20 years. Everyone had the same hopes, essentially, even if the career arcs were different: good job, nice wife, kids, home, etc. Markers.

Well, I said all that too — but about 14 years later, I left this apartment because my wife and I split up. So I had to confront an entirely different type of reality, context about my life, role in it, and everything else that comes with it.