How Not To Move Across The Country

Tell everyone you want to move. Say it for months before you actually do move. Keep pushing it off with no real date in mind. Let it stop you from committing to productive things in the present. Why would you join a gym? You’re moving! Any day now.

Leave the big decisions until the last minute, after you’ve already bought the plane ticket. What will you do with your car? Why didn’t you just drive there? You could’ve taken a road trip! Tell everyone that you would have, but your new job got in the way. Even if there is no real job yet, just mention work. People prickle at the mention of work. Make it sound official: “I would, but I really had to get to work ASAP.”

Let work guide your move. Did you find a job there yet? Great! Get your ass on the plane. Oh, you haven’t found a job? Get your ass on the plane and find one when you land.

Have three “going away parties” that basically consist of meeting random groups of friends for appetizers. Have one “going away party” that was a regular party to begin with, but happened to fall on the week of your departure. Tell the fifteen people you hardly know there how excited you are. As you fall asleep tipsy in an unfamiliar bed next to your best friend, tell her how scared you are.

Get your car on a cross-country carrier the day before your flight. Pay a grand to hand over your vehicle to a guy who talks shit on you to his grandpa in spanish. He tells his grandpa that they won’t take your car, he says you have no money. Overhear the shit talk and call his dispatcher. Begin an hour long soap opera involving your car in the parking lot of a diner on the highway. Finally get your vehicle onto the carrier. Read over the waiver when you get home and realize that any damages “cause by debris” are not covered. You don’t pray, but tonight, you ask the automotive gods for mercy.

Get on the plane. Much to your parents’ dismay, get on the plane and tell yourself you aren’t nervous. Get a stress headache when you get there. Don’t take Advil. Get In N’ Out, because that’s what you do. Throw up in the hotel bathroom. Call your mother and cry.

Before you leave town, though, email some people from Craigslist who need roommates. Tell them you’re very interested in their place in Koreatown. It looks so cute! The hardwood floors! The molding! The non-working fireplace! Give them a little money to hold your spot. Go see the room in person, car full of everything you own. Get there early. Sit in your car and sweat. See the room and realize that it is slightly bigger than your car. Say fuck it, lose the deposit, and find a new place twice the size with ugly carpets.

Don’t concern yourself with your bank account. If the balance is enough to cover your first month’s rent, a security deposit, and some groceries, you’re golden. When you get there and get a flat tire, realize that your well is running dry. Troll craigslist without sleeping for days to find any paying job that doesn’t include the words “cam model” or “feet” in the description. Become very grateful for the family members who send you gift cards. Call your mother and cry.

Realize that you probably did it all wrong. Feel alone. Start working. Hate it a little, learn to enjoy it, love it even. Meet people who are the worst. Meet others who show you hidden bars and ask if you miss home. Say no, not really. Send an ‘I miss you’ text two minutes later. Decorate. Find a good breakfast place. Unpack the last box. Write your new address in the ‘home’ section on the application for your new gym membership. You’re not moving, not anytime soon, anyway.