So it was decided in November that I would take the biggest risk of my life, which in retrospect was a lot of risks wrapped in one; I placed all bets on me.

I turned down a lukewarm job offer in Seattle, but was determined to go anyway. Without a business plan, I pulled all of my efforts into my own name declaring myself as an independent contractor. I was low on cash (still am), but was determined to find work. I’ve given myself a month to make it in the city.

And I am here in Seattle — struggling, working many hours on my brand, for people and companies that don’t have much money themselves. Working hard despite coming out of heartbreak and every nerve that hurts because of it. Even still, I keep bumping into incidences that validate my presence here. Many would call them coincidences but I really think this is meant to be, meant to happen.

I booked a room for a month through Airbnb, my host and I have similar names and we get along well.

Every day I am hungry, and it is hard not knowing. But I am too determined to not try, and too tough to die. To not try is to fail.

I don’t know if I’ll make it here in Seattle. I don’t know if I’ll find love here or have the life that’s been living in my head. But in this way—with one foot in front of the other—I will find out. Let’s see what I’m really worth, what I’m really made of.

I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.

Robert Frost,
“The Sound of Trees”

Thank you to my friends who wished me luck. Cheers to an adventurous year! 777