From One Washington to Another

“Look what you got in the mail today!” my roommate Hannah announced as she walked into the apartment one mid-afternoon day in February. In her hand was a thick envelope, a university logo emblazoned across the front of it.

“It has to be an acceptance,” she said. Everyone knows college acceptances come in big envelopes.

I had applied to a single graduate school this past winter for an acute care nurse practitioner program, hoping to be accepted into their doctoral program. At the time I applied, I had felt like it was the only thing I’d ever wanted. That I’d be able to put a big check mark next to “Go to graduate school” on my bucket list, doing what I thought I’d always wanted.

But in the month leading up to being accepted (which Hannah accurately predicted was what was in the envelope), I had started to feel unsure about the whole thing. I’d had some big life changes happen in the months before then, some of which left me doubting the true reasons behind wanting to go back to school. Was I doing it because it was what I really wanted? Or was I doing it because I felt like others were expecting it of me?

It was something I’d been thinking about a lot, and actually hadn’t quite made a decision by the time the letter showed up in our mailbox.

It wasn’t until I ripped open the envelope and read the first congratulatory line, feeling anxiety and dread rather than happiness and joy that I knew it wasn’t for me.

At least for right now.

I declined the acceptance and was left with that huge, all-consuming feeling of “what next?” I’d just locked myself out of the next big upwards career leap, but also felt like my life needed a little shakeup. Having been in DC for three years, I’d been there longer than I’d ever really anticipated. But those three years were truly been some of the best years of my life.

But still, I felt like my life was missing something.

The more I thought about it, the more I kept thinking about how much I love to travel and ways that I could make it into something I could do more often. Because, if we’re being honest, that’s the real dream. Ever since nursing school, I can remember always wanting to work as a travel nurse - someone who travels the country filling nursing needs in hospitals big and small. I thought that it’d be the perfect opportunity for me to fulfill my passion of nursing with my love for traveling.

Until I started going through what felt like my mid-life crisis at twenty-five, it hadn’t been something I’d truly considered doing.

That was, until I figured I had nothing to lose.

So I’ve decided to go for it, and we’re going big.

Tomorrow I’ll be moving to Tacoma, Washington for my first travel nurse assignment in an intensive care unit. I’ll be traveling with a best friend and her dog, essentially making it a big ol’ road trip throughout the Northwest during their absolute perfect summer months.

And while we’re excited (actually, more than excited), I can only speak for myself when I say that I’m definitely nervous. And, truth be told, a little bit scared.

A good friend of mine once told me that when making a decision and left between two choices, choose the one that scares you the most.

And this choice scares me.

For one, I moved to Washington, DC when I wasn’t totally sure what I wanted out of my own life. Straight out of college, I had originally wanted to move to Boston or NYC, two cities that are hard to get into as a new graduate nurse. When those options didn’t pan out, the hospital I’ve worked at now for three years - a hospital I applied to on a whim - called me back and offered me a job right on the spot. In fact, I had originally applied for a medical-surgical position, never submitting an application for the emergency department. When I spoke with the nurse recruiter after getting the med-surg job offer, she told me, “You sound like an ED nurse at heart. Why don’t I set up an interview with their manager?”

Three years later, after never formally applying for the position, I’m leaving my ED and ICU nursing job with a new respect for life and many, many friends who I couldn’t be more sad to leave.

But it’s also leaving DC that makes me feel as though I’ll be leaving a piece of my heart behind. When I originally moved here, never did I ever think I would fall in love with the city the way that I have. Late summer nights watching the Nationals play on the Potomac waterfront. Early morning runs down the National Mall, watching the fiery sun peek up from behind the Capitol Building. Saturdays spent wandering through Eastern Market, picking out my fresh fruit and veggies for the week. Going to the Kennedy Center to catch a show, feeling like a member of royalty surrounded by crowds of people all dressed to the nines.

From areas of town like Capitol Hill and Adams Morgan which I’ve been lucky to call home to parts of Virginia and Maryland I never thought I’d have a chance to discover.

I’ll miss the random sightseeings of famous people walking down the street. The, “oh, shit. That’s Bernie Sanders - QUICK SNAP A PICTURE” moments I’ll never forget. Or being able to use, “Sorry I was late - the vice president’s motorcade closed down all of Rock Creek Parkway” as a legitimately valid excuse for being late to work.

I’ve had numerous friends and family visit in my time here. Each time I show them around the DC that I know - not the tourist, museum-filled DC you’ll get from any touring agency - it always fills me with joy to see them fall in love with it the way I have each time I discover something new within its borders.

Because when I think of this city, I think of all that it’s given me. Friends that’ll last a lifetime, a passion for critical care nursing I never thought possible, and a willingness to always want to try something new, never settling for less.

It’s a city that’s given me so much, yet which all I can really do in return is say, “Thank you.”

So here’s to the next step. From one Washington to another, I have no doubt the adventure will only continue.

May we never stop wandering.