In June of 2020, I moved to Des Moines, IA with my parents. I had been laid off due to the pandemic, was newly 21, and moreover, had no idea where life was taking me. All I knew was that my dog and I were hitchhiking a ride 3 hours north in hopes of starting something new.
Iowa was cold. And small. I moved into my parent’s basement, as any teenager in their twenties does, and wondered what I was even doing. The thing is, the bedroom I had moved into had cellar windows. They hardly let in any light and kept my room very dark when the sun hid behind the clouds, but mid afternoon every day, that room would light up as if it were a verdant greenhouse, as if light wasn’t reduced to filtering through two miniature rectangles on one wall. When I think of this time in my life, I consider these tiny windows to be metaphorical of how I felt then. Apprehensive, scared, sad. I missed my friends and family that were still in Kansas City, and I often felt like my one constant companion was Eve, my dog. She slept alongside me every night, walked with me every day, and never complained about the basement.
I tried new things as soon as I moved to Iowa. I began working at a salon, and I liked it. I decided I’d take up something new: Esthiology. I laugh now, because that’s not even a word. The AVEDA Institute was good to me; I loved my instructor, Mrs. Dennis. She was kind, incredibly bright, and had seen a lot of life. I went on to become a stylist at the salon I was working at. I did all the jobs there, it felt like—reception, lead consultant, stylist, master stylist, so on and so forth.
One thing I can never seem to sugarcoat is how lonely Des Moines was when I first arrived. I had to start from scratch, it felt like. No one knew me, and I knew no one. What began as fear and trepidation started to feel like a sort of wild freedom. I could reinvent myself, I could try new things; I didn’t have to adhere to the mold I had grown accustomed to when in my hometown. Instead, I had shattered it.
It started with small things at first. I began to practice a new routine. I made friends with other stylists at the salon. I spent more time with my little brother. Every weekend, I would go to my favorite coffee shop. I found out that the burger joint on Ingersoll had the best cheeseburger I have ever tasted in my 21 years of living, and across the street from it was what became my favorite Thai of all time. All of these things, like fragments of a bigger picture, helped me find my way. I couldn’t have predicted that a rose garden near my parent’s house or living with my childhood dog again would heal me in the way that they did, but as the beginning of 2025 rolled around, I realized a very sudden truth: I wasn’t lonely anymore, and more importantly, I also no longer felt lost.
People ask me: would I do it again? Yes, I would. I grew into myself by moving somewhere I had never really known or been, and in that solitude and newness was a part of me that bloomed. I no longer fear unknown territory or trying new things, and I find myself often choosing the road less traveled as time continues to pass. I learned that being uncomfortable is okay and while you might not always see the larger future awaiting you, it is important to be diligent, practice kindness, and embrace change.
I am back in Kansas now. I moved back in the beginning of this year, at the start of March. My parents and little brother stayed in Iowa, as that’s their happy place, and I get it. I think of Des Moines often and the gifts that it gave me. It is a little funny, to me at least, that I feel so refreshed and content in a place that I once felt so confined. I am happier than I have ever been now, so I am not inclined to ask too many questions.
I say all of this to say: Do the hard thing. Venture into a place unknown to you. Chase newness and spontaneous opportunity. You are the stem in which your life finds nutrients to bloom into a beautiful flower, unique to you only. Your roots may always remain the same, but your life is always subject to wonderful change, if only emboldened by your own curiosity and greatness.
