The truck is reserved, the apartment is waiting, the jobs and day care are in place. This is really happening. In one week, we load everything we own in the car and the truck and drive 2,886 miles to our new home in the suburbs of Seattle.
Having always lived on the east coast (Philly, Boston, Northern VA), I honestly have no idea what to expect from west coast life. I’m used to being on the coast where the sun rises, swimming in the Atlantic Ocean, being in the heart of the birthplace of the U.S., the time zone where New Year’s and TV show airings happen first. Thirty minutes from Philly, 2 hours from New York and Baltimore, 3 hours from DC. Having lived here all my life it now just feels like everything happens HERE. My family is here. My friends are here.
Out in Seattle, it’s the land of sunsets and the Pacific Ocean. Birthplace of Starbucks and Pearl Jam. Views of lakes and mountains at every turn (I’m guessing). A place where there is no need for air conditioners in homes because there is virtually never any excessive heat or humidity. Given the current heat wave here this week, this is a huge departure from my normal experience. I will have no family there. A friend or two, yes, but a social network will have to be built. Socially, we are starting from scratch. We will have to hire a babysitter that we do not know at all and entrust him or her with our precious littles.
The unknown factors are so overwhelming that I could easily slip into a panic attack if I dwell too much. So, instead, I plan. And plan. And plan. Our road trip is mapped out and calculated down to the mile. The kids already have their pediatrician appointments set up for August. Our cable/internet install is scheduled. The mail is set to be forwarded. It is GO TIME.
Oh but, wait. I haven’t packed yet. Oops….