And then, finally, there was snow. Not as much as predicted, but full-on snow, at last. In the midst of record white stuff all over the country, DC has had nothing but pretty dustings this year. This is just fine with the city; we got our fill last year, if you remember. Which is exactly what I was doing last night.
My sisters-in-law were visiting, and in the height of the storm the four of us walked back to our apartment from a neighborhood restaurant. We were tromping through the snow, barely able to see, tightening hoods and lowering hats, slipping and laughing at the absurdity of the mess everywhere, and for me anyway, having a full-circle moment.
Our anniversary as DC residents is in 11 days. We've been here just short of a year, just short of all sorts of snowy havoc. We're going through life right now obsessed with our real estate conundrum, feeling a bit lost, a bit untethered to anything resembling a concrete plan. Our "it'll be okay" gut feelings are leading us, but those gray hairs I mentioned are proof that the stress is taking its toll. I was thinking how strange this feeling of not knowing is for us, but then I remembered life fourteen months ago, when we were looking for jobs and a new life and a new city, sure somehow it would work out but not all sure how.
It did work out, beautifully. Here we are, in our first choice city. A city that has four true seasons, just like we wanted, including a winter that brings us snow. A city close enough to our families that we see them regularly, including T's sisters, who I love as if they were my own. In so many ways, we've made it. In the context of how big and full our lives are, whether or not we rent or own this spring is really just a tiny subchapter.
And so with heavy, wet snow pummeling my face, I reminded myself: we've already made it. Life is great. And maybe, just maybe, next week we'll make it even further.