A New D.C. Adventure

I was sad to leave Arlington. I loved the house, my roommates, the location, the neighborhood. It was perfect in my mind–except that the house was slowly killing me. It was dusty and moldy from years of neglect by the landlord, who was actually a slumlord. The signs were all there: my lung function had continuously declined since living there, I randomly developed terrible pneumonia, and I was getting bloody noses. But fear paralyzed me from change. I dreaded the prospect of living somewhere new with random roommates. What if the new place was tiny? What if it was loud at night? What if it was a sketchy area? What if the rent was too high? What if I didn’t get along with the people?

But I was tired of a house constantly falling apart. I was tired of my unemployed roommate cooking in the middle of the night with his girlfriend who basically moved in too. I was tired of a messy kitchen and of the stove being left on (it’s honestly a miracle we never burned the house down). I was tired of the copious white bros and lack of diversity in the neighborhood.

Then one day my roommate Laura, who became a close friend, asked if I would consider moving into D.C. with her. Even though I never pictured myself living in D.C., I clamped on to the idea like it was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. This was my ticket out. I was so convinced a random wouldn’t want to live with me and all my chronic illnesses. So this proposition could work.

But life had its own plan–as it often does. To make a long story short, a friend randomly introduced me to her friend who was looking for a new roommate. On a whim, but still convinced I would move with Laura soon, I met her and saw the quaint apartment in the very nice and safe Capitol Hill neighborhood in D.C. I was upfront with her about all my medical things. She works in public health and didn’t seem to bat an eye about it–even when I told her sometimes I have to go on IV. We both agreed it seemed like a good fit.

A month later, I’m typing this blog from my (adorable) neighborhood coffeeshop in D.C. I’ve been at my new apartment for a week and it’s a million times better than I anticipated. I’m completely in love with the location. It’s surrounded by big, lusciously green parks. It’s walking distance to several fun neighborhoods. The people are incredibly nice. I’ve chatted strangers up at the grocery store, the pharmacy, and a shop. Who says people in D.C. are mean?

My new roommate is amazing. It wasn’t even awkward in the beginning. We’ve already had deep life conversations–a favorite activity of mine–about career paths for our generation and whether to have children. Last night we saw a politically conscious hip-hop band and then watched Netflix comedy specials.

For the first time in years, I’m excited to walk out the door. I feel like a tourist in my own city, discovering new places, exploring streets, and eager to talk with locals. I’ve lived almost 4 years in this area (STILL can’t believe it’s been that long already!), yet I barely know D.C. It seems fitting to finally do it.

“Are you ready?” my roommate asked as she grabbed my shoulder. She was referring to leaving the concert venue. But as I turned around to see her friendly eyes, the question took on a whole new meaning.

Yeah, I’m ready for this next adventure. No more fear. Let’s go.