Part 3: Boston in my Twenties
Note: this is a continuation, if you want to read from the beginning (which I recommend!) go back to Post # 2 and Post # 1
After London, I found myself back in Boston, where I had lived for one year after undergrad. Both of my sisters and my mother were currently living there, as well as several of my closest friends. I had a new degree and still, a lot of difficulty finding a job. Part of it was the lingering unsavory job market but part of it was I didn’t have a clear idea of what I wanted to do. I felt like I was no closer to my idea of a dream career but I desperately wanted (and needed) some sort of employment. I spent several months obsessively looking for jobs, feeling low and being a cater waiter on the side. In retrospect (all our greatest lessons are in retrospect, right?) I wish I would have spent more time during those months enjoying my time, going for walks, taking myself out to coffee, writing, but instead I felt like I had to put everything on pause until I found employment. Which, after several long months, I eventually did. I got a job working on a research project at Boston Children’s Hospital, interviewing families about patient centered care.
It was work that I found interesting and meaningful and after beating myself up for months about not having a job after graduate school, I was overwhelmingly grateful. This was the summer of 2013, and also when I started to settle into a beautiful time in my life. I moved into a magical three bedroom apartment in the heart of Boston (Back Bay, if you know the city). I lived in the apartment for five years with incredible friends, developed an amazing community, lived near my sisters and was able to walk to work (I know I said my walk to school in London was the best but this walk was also pretty great). I remember feeling so content and happy with my life at this time. It was so full of joy and friendship and fun. I spent most of my free time going out for dinner or drinks or karaoke or getting takeout or going to yoga classes and for walks. Or, just sitting in a friend’s apartment, hanging out on the couch and enjoying our twenties together. Boston is an extremely walkable city and I could walk to at least 85% of my friends’ houses. I dated but never felt the immense desire to have a serious relationship at the time, I just knew I wanted to find someone for future me, for when I was ready to exchange my bachelorette life in for one with a husband and children.
During those years, when I felt happy and content, I really focused on the social and community aspect of my life. I have no regrets about that. I felt grounded and peaceful. Work as I said was meaningful (even though it was very much work I didn’t see myself doing forever),and I got to travel a fair amount which I loved. I started taking classes at an improv studio in the city too, and felt like that filled my creative cup for a while.
I do remember thinking that I wanted to write a novel someday, I think because it made me happy to think I could still be a writer in the future. And on and off, I would set “goals” for myself, like write for twenty minutes a day…or….write five pages a week. It always made me feel good when I had creative projects and it was fun to work on these mini goals, but writing fiction felt like something I had to do. Not something that I ran home from a dinner, excited to get in bed and work on. I don’t think I put together pieces at the time that again, when I felt any sort of big emotions good or bad, my inclination wasn’t to put it in a fictional story, but it was to put it in a poem. Clues, I guess.
Anyway, this way of life continued on in mostly bliss until I met my husband and, around the same time, started to think differently about work and creative passions and how they fit together in my life. I said I’d write more about that and I will..next time!
Note: I am writing these like little mini essay chapters that can all be read together as a story…Next chapter coming in two weeks!