Jess is a content creator, editor, and consumer living in the suburbs of Boston.

Control Stops With The Shore

The beach has an incredible way of restarting your mind and cleansing your anxieties. There's something in the slow, undeniable movement of water, churning in and rushing out — it's impossible to stand before it and not feel an utter sense of calm.

Seven days at the shore was the perfect getaway. My family, both close and extended, as well as my boyfriend, all joined me in the salty air to celebrate my graduation. The kids got sunburnt, the souvenirs were expensive — but, of course, it was completely worth it.

And check out this incredible storm that happened upon us, Tropical Storm Bill:


It caught my dad and I by surprise, as we were biking along First Avenue and talking about my move to Boston and the updates from back home. We parked it by the bay and watched these small white clouds unfurl, like a fist unclenching, as they gave way to an immense and dark sky. It was terrifying, as we sped on our bikes to make it home just as the first droplets came down. It was amazing.

While I never wanted to leave the beach — one day, I know I'll find myself a beach house and settle into it, cozy in the breeze — I was happy to get back to Massachusetts and unlock the next part of my future.

And by unlock, I mean, seriously, unlock!

Holding our key!

Holding our key!

We finally moved in to the new apartment! It's around 600 square feet of hardwood bliss, and it's still pretty empty and feels small, but it's ours.

As I sit on the couch (a hand-me-down that will be replaced once we save enough money), and I look at the coffee table (that we built from a greenhouse pallet), and I gaze at the bookshelves (the Ikea ones that we managed to mostly-kindly assemble), I finally feel a small twinge of accomplishment.

After all the commotion and build-up and preparation, it was strange to move all the boxes and to begin the process of unpacking. For the past few days, it's almost felt a bit awkward, stilted. I've never moved before, having spent my entire childhood in one home, so perhaps I was simply not ready for the absolute new-ness that accompanies a new home. And, perhaps, it's not quite a home yet. Slowly, over time and with our savings, we'll be able to make it a home — make it feel like a home. Future Christmas gifts, DIY projects, and worn-in bath towels with make this apartment feel like a home.

Right now, though, I exist in the in-between — but this doesn't make it a bad place to be at all! Just... different. Exciting, and scary, and jarring. But isn't that what adulthood is, after all? A constant shifting, eternally striving for comfort in the situations that unfold? Complacency in unrest?

Like Monica so knowingly said to her friends: "Welcome to the real world! It sucks. You're gonna love it."