Educated Guesses

Tag: moving

  • Goodbye Virginia, Hello NYC!

    Goodbye Virginia, Hello NYC!

    My Virginia necklace broke a few days before I moved to New York City. I’ve bought several of these necklaces over the years, as I constantly wear them out. My Virginia necklace accompanies me when I run, jingling against my neck as I pace down the street. I wear it at the beach, dipping it into the salty water as I dunk my head under. I wear it when I sleep, resting the Virginia pendent against my skin. It has become tattooed to my neck. People always point it out –– sparking a conversation. Its a symbol of not only my legal name, but of where I am from. 

    “You must really like the state of Virginia,” customers at the bar I worked at would say. 

    “It’s actually my first name,” I would reply. Most people responded with wide eyes and a long “Ohhhhhh,” fascinated that someone would be named after the state they were born in. 

    My Virginia necklace was a piece of home that I brought with me to college in Pennsylvania. Drunk frat boys would be baffled when they asked about my necklace. I would explain that yes, I am from Virginia and it is my first name, but that I go by Ginger. 

    “Your name is not Virginia,” one drunk guy, probably with a one syllable name that started with a J, said one Halloweekend. He, standing in a “Top Gun: Maverick” costume (very original), insisted that I was lying, that he just could not believe that was my name. I rolled my eyes and abandoned our drunken conversation. 

    I never saw that guy again. 

    I’d never met anyone with the same Virginia shaped necklace, until a few weeks ago while working at the bar. A woman came up to order a beer, and noticed my gold necklace, displayed over my work shirt. 

    “Oh my gosh, I have the same necklace,” she said, pulling hers out from under a stack of other gold necklaces. There it was, a miniature state of Virginia dangling from her neck, matching mine. 

    “I want to name my daughter Virginia,” she said to me after I explained the meaning behind my Virginia necklace. 

    No one had ever said that to me before. I’ve heard people point out names that they would want to name their child, names that my friends have or ones that matched girls I went to school with. Virginia was never one of them, so hearing this surprised me and made me smile. 

    I was able to fix my necklace after initially breaking it. I took a pair of tweezers and adjusted the small gold loop to thread the chain back into. I pushed the two ends of the loop together to close it, and clasped it right back on. 

    But then, I made the move to New York City. I packed all of my things in suitcases, trash bags and bins. I loaded my mom’s Jeep Grand Cherokee, my whole life stuffed inside of an SUV. 

    The weekend I moved into my new apartment, the same thing happened –– my necklace broke. But this time, I couldn’t fix it. Was this a sign of my new beginning? Was I shedding my former home for a new one? Would this move work out?

    That meant I was leaving Virginia behind, and my necklace breaking permanently after moving in felt like an omen. While I may be leaving my home, Virginia will always be with me in my name. It’s on my ID and passport. It’s the “V” in my signature on a check. It’s the name I give when asked what my legal name is.

    But this time, I won’t buy a new Virginia necklace, at least not for now. Maybe this is my way of embracing the new, exciting and scary future. 

  • The Desire to be Uprooted

    The Desire to be Uprooted

    When you’re in school, you always know what’s coming next. When you are in seventh grade, you know you will be going into eighth the next fall. There is always a sense of security in knowing where you will be. Even when parts of life are changing, this notion of school is always a constant. 

    Of course, there is uncertainty when college comes around. Do you want to go to college? Where do you want to apply? Where will you get in? What degree do you want? All of these questions crop up senior year of high school, or sometimes earlier. I remember feeling uncertain –– of feeling like a plant being ripped out of its own soil to be planted somewhere new. And eventually, after nights of major mental breakdowns about leaving my childhood bedroom, it was all ok. It ended up being the best thing for me.

    In college, I learned that it was ok to be uprooted. That being planted somewhere new was wonderful and exciting. It was better to grow somewhere else than hide in the shadows of what was comfortable. 

    Now, I’m back in the shade of my childhood bedroom. My old plastic soccer trophies stare at me from my bookshelves –– curious as to why I am back. I wish so badly to be uprooted again, to be taken to another unfamiliar place where I can feel the warmth of the sun and grow. But for now, I am stuck here, surrounded by golden figures in cleats and shin guards.

    There is no 17th grade for me. There is no grad school in my forward view and that’s ok. But it’s hard not knowing what is next yet, especially when my job hunt has gone from fine to desperate. After several rejections and being ghosted from jobs, my experience that I was once proud of feels weak and flimsy. 

    Every year in school felt like a new step toward my post-grad goals. I did new projects each year, took on leadership roles and got better grades in my classes. By the end, I felt successful. I felt like everything that I did in college will somehow, miraculously, give me a job the summer after I graduated. But my sister goes back to college soon, and in just a few weeks the leaves will begin to change color. 

    Even so, there is some comfort in knowing that at this time next summer, my life will probably look completely different. Maybe I will find a journalism job that I like, or work in marketing, or work some crazy job that I have no idea about yet. Maybe I will be in New York City or in a random city I never thought I would live in.  

    There is comfort in knowing that I will be planted somewhere else eventually. And isn’t that exciting? While my internal clock is freaking out that I don’t have a job yet, part of me (a very small sliver) knows that it will happen. I just need time.

    What are your thoughts on where you will be next year? Let me know by emailing me: gingerlyons23@gmail.com 🙂