I have found and reserved my apartment for my move to Indiana next weekend.
I am excited to once again be surrounded by engineers during my time at Purdue, and I am looking forward to my new field of study more than ever.
At the other end of this, I will be a doctor.
A doctor and an educator.
But now that I am leaving Baltimore again after only two measly years—most of which was spent in either an office or a classroom—I wonder if I actually have any idea what I am doing with my life or if I have just learned to maintain a convincing facsimile of confidence and competence.
I am ready to stop this nomadic "move away and start over every two years" act. At least for a while. The deposit on my rent for next month has made the move tangible. The change is no longer theoretical.
I know that this is the right decision. Even if I have to endure a year of not having a balcony on which to enjoy the occasional tobacco product.
But I find no shame in admitting that I am terrified.
And strangely sorry.
Sorry that I have to leave again so soon.