On March 12th 2020 we left NYC with the intention of returning a few weeks later. On June 29th 2020, I wrote this blog post. I am not in NYC and though i’ve been back since, it was only to move out of the apartment we loved very much. To put it simply, it was obvious we were going to resign the lease.
We are all going through shit, and I understand that my issues pale in comparison to those who have lost loved ones due to COVID-19 or police brutality. I’ve been lucky. My grandparents caught and recovered from COVID. I was able to leave NYC in time to safely quarantine in a beach town. My life does not suck, but this is my blog and not the New York Times, so i’m here to tell you what’s going on with me.
The night of March 11th Ben read an article that led him to believe that NYC was going to be the epicenter of the pandemic. The next morning we packed up enough shit to last us a few weeks in Marshfield. Funny enough, I packed a bathing suit. Ben thought I was insane at the time, though I insisted you never know when you’re going to get a random spring beach day in New England.
We left a few hours later in a rental car. A few hours into our drive, my Dad called us and said he was concerned we were infected and he had rented us an airbnb for 2 weeks to quarantine in. I am aware that this is a result of insane privilege. We spent our first night out of NYC at a Hampton Inn & Suites in Plymouth. I splurged on the biggest suite, it was $125 because it was a weekday in March in Plymouth.
After two weeks had passed and the storm had not, we extended our stay in the quarantine cottage (the main photo), knowing the quarters at my parent’s house would we too tight for all of us. We hoped to be able to stay through the summer, but were able to only extend our stay to early May. Once the May/June renters had cancelled their trips, we were able to extend until today (June 29th.)
Overall, we had a truly wonderful first quarantine experience. Sure, we cancelled our wedding. BUT, we walked on the beach almost every single day! We pod-quarantined with my parents (down the street) and saw absolutely nobody except my immediate family for 2 months (which I know some of you will take issue with.) It wasn’t until 2 weeks ago I even stepped foot in a grocery store. I still haven’t been to a restaurant.
It was fun being able to do things like watch The Bachelor (Listen to Your Heart) on Monday nights with my mom and sisters. I had dinner with my family at least once a week and it only resulted in tears/screams a handful of times. It’s been 9 years since i’ve lived at home, and I don’t think its an exaggeration to say that I have seen my family more in 2020 than I have in the last decade.
For a good portion of this experience I thought that Ben and I would choose to stay in the South Shore after quarantine and beyond. At one point we thought we’d find an apartment in Plymouth or Marshfield and save for a house in Scituate or Duxbury. We love chasing sunsets in our new Jeep (we got a white Jeep Wranger lol) and being able to go on my parent’s boat! The South Shore of Massachusetts is simply a breathtakingly beautiful place.
We struggled between accepting the sign that we were meant to start our post-city life sooner than expected here, while battling a deep yearning for our life in NYC.
This changed two days ago. This past Saturday we went to stash away some more things at our storage unit (aka my Dad’s office basement) only to find our belongings sitting in a puddle. I lost it.
My first reaction was to immediately panic about the box of art that contained an intricate drawing from Bali with a hand carved wooden frame. A painting Ben had bought in Israel. A handcrafted hanging mask we purchased in Colombia. Priceless memories that would be impossible to replace. If I could save a single box, it would have been this one. By some grace of God (she/her), despite being labeled FRAGILE and being placed directly on the concrete, the art I cared about survived. Nothing else mattered, though the damage was less horrific than we initially suspected.
In many ways, this box is a metaphor for our lives over the past three months. We felt forced out of the city we loved and thrust into my hometown. Our travel plans and wedding were cancelled. Ben’s father is currently in hospice care. We will be moving 4-5 times in 6 months. Our shit is flooded. But we have each other, and we have Sophie. We have our careers and our health. The box of things that matter most may be slightly damp, but they are safe.
This experience forced Ben and I to have a really tough conversation. We’d been actively avoiding addressing our future for the last two months.
I’m a city person, and i’m only 27. Ben works for my dad and has been THRIVING in his career here. I’ve done really well working remotely for Traackr. My yearning for NYC exceeds my happiness at the beach (spoiled much?) Ben is ready to buy a house in the South Shore. Both of our hearts are dragging us in drastically different directions. So we decided that breaking up with the best choice for us.
….just kidding I would NEVER. Instead we had to compromise. Ben needs to be in Massachusetts to thrive at work. I need to be in a city for my sanity. So where are we moving? Boston.
The next couple of months we’re living in a smaller beach cottage in Marshfield, enjoying everything the summer has to offer us here. Then we’re doing a month-by-month at the cottage we just left until we’re confident enough in the COVID-handling situation to move to the city.
It’s been a fucking year. I’m so glad to have some clarity about what the future looks like.
Anyways, sign this petition to demand justice for Breonna Taylor.
