On Moving Out

I first moved out of my parents house around June of 2006 at the age of twenty-one. I had finally gotten a REAL job as a Human Resources Assistant at a privately owned insurance company, which afforded my the privilege of getting an apartment with Amanda Urban, my girlfriend of the time.

I expected challenges, but i didn't anticipate the fear associated with the experience. Not only was I leaving my parents whom I care for very much, but I was taking on a whole new life - bills, budgeting, cooking, cleaning, shopping for myself, a required income, the constant company of a significant other, new found independence, and a puppy. I truly began to understand the culture shock I was about to endure as I was signing the lease, which resulted in what I now understand to be a minor panic attack, coupled with the unexpected feeling of sadness as I was leaving behind a life with less... obligatory responsibility.

The next 8 months were a fun learning experience. Yes, there were times when money was tight, job-depression would kick in now and then because I hated what I did, Amanda and I would fight as many couples do, but these are all things that were expected. All in all, it was fun.
We eventually moved to Santa Monica next, to be closer to Amanda's Nursing school. We had a lot of parties at #2 933 6th Street, and every one of them was always a great time; barbecues, drunk trekking to local bars to drink even more, playing pool at dive bars...etc.

Living near the beach is the best thing ever. Fresh ocean air everyday is the most comforting thing to the working man. Santa Monica showed me that I could never live very far from the ocean.

My friend Nate was having trouble with his girlfriend with whom he lived with, so I told him to temporarily move in with us. Amanda agreed because unbeknown to me, she was beginning to feel like our relationship was too intense for our age and that another person in the apartment would ease some tension. Eventually Amanda decided to move out, and shortly thereafter we ended our relationship.

I digress; clearly there are many details I have not included thus far about the the said relationship mostly to save from sounding like a typical one-sided breakup story. Additionally, Amanda and I remain friends, and I don't wish to say anything that is not entirely fact. The truth is this; moving in with a significant other is absolutely a substitute for a ring on their finger. It may seem to be a casual arrangement, but the action carries with it a heavy obligation of commitment and sharing ever-so-closely similar to the agreement of marriage. In other words, if you are not ready to marry your lover, do not live with them. I had an amazing time, and I wouldn't trade the entire experience for anything, but trust me.

So there we were, two good-looking and intelligent commiserating bachelors in an empty apartment in Santa Monica. (she owned all the furniture). I lost my job a week before the breakup, so I was rolling single, jobless, and a little depressed laying on a borrowed mattress on the floor. Luckily, I keep the company of some good friends and great parents to help me out of my funk, and back into action.

Here's the ironic part. I finished the year lease on my apartment in Santa Monica, and moved back in with my folks; back to square one. I now find myself right where I started, but with a new perspective and appreciation for life - exactly what I set out to find. The hard part is over, and the lessons I learned will carry over to my new experiences, which are inevitably on their way.

Point A is almost always capable of being Point B.