Upheaving Everything is a lot of Work. How I'm Surrendering to the Universe and Getting My Fresh Start
Art Direction and Photograph by: Catie Menke. Model: Emilee Kunz.
Copy by: Devon Herrera
Model: Emilee Kunz
Creative Direction by: Catie Menke
Aside from the time I was forced to drive someone’s truck so we could leave a high school woods party, I’d never sat so high behind the wheel of a vehicle. I gripped my hands at 10 and 2 as I slowly pulled out of the U-Haul Storage facility, heading towards my gated home in Chandler… or more accurately, what was my home.
I’d spent the entire day and night before packing boxes and boxes… and boxes. Seriously, how do I have so much shit?
I took my time crying on the floor of our massive closet (man, will I miss that baby) after sealing off the cardboard edges with duct-tape, recalling a memory or simply releasing the pent-up frustration I’d been holding on to for… quite some time.
I wanted someone to hold me and tell me everything would be okay, even though I implicitly knew it would be.
As I reversed the container on wheels into my driveway, I felt lighter – sure of my decision. A sense of true knowing I’d been yearning for, for years.
I unlatched the metal hook, grabbed the tattered orange dolly and began my back-and-forth trips, breaking a vase, shattering a picture, and scraping a table in the process. My independence and confidence was rising with the removal of each box… it might’ve slumped a bit when it was time to transfer my clothes. I guess you buy more when you have a huge closet taunting you to fill it.
Don’t worry, once I gather my bearings, you best believe a women’s shelter will get all the goods.
Image of Devon Herrera.
With a final walk through, I looked in each room with gratitude, appreciating the safety and comfort it gave me for years. I allowed a single tear to fall (okay, that just sounds nice for the story, but honestly, there were a few) before leaving the keys on the island and exiting through the garage.
I carefully made my way onto the 101 (only slightly terrified) towards a storage unit close to my sister’s house as that would be home-base until I figured out where the hell I was gonna stay.
“You know what, we’re gonna waive the cost of the first month… and the cost of the lock for the unit,” the blonde, forty-something woman behind the counter said matter of factly. “And my husband will help you load your things into the space if you need it… you just say the word, sweetie.”
I could’ve cried in that small office space; the sincere kindness and generosity was another confirmation I was in my flow – making the right decision for future me.
After an hour of tetris-ing the boxes in place, my armpits were absolutely rank, screaming at me to put a heavy dose of soap in there, followed by half a stick of deodorant. I obliged their request as well as my sister’s, to go out for the night.
“You need to just let loose,” she said.
Image of Devon Herrera.
Bypassing the details of the night because it’s not really conducive to the heart of my story (we’ll save that for another time).
The next day, after lunch with my family (and crying – yes, there’s lots of crying in this story -- over a customized puzzle they got of my puppy… now ex-puppy but actually she’ll always be mine), I spent a solid two hours scouring for Air BnBs (shit’s expensive) until finding one.
It was as if someone just ripped through a pack of cigarettes; the odor came wafting into my nose with vengeance. Needless to say, I was OUT OF THERE.
I quickly remembered my friend’s words, ‘Dev, please feel free to stay at our place… we’re out of town for the week so you’ll have the house to yourself. Honestly, we’d love for you to be there.’
I’ve said it once, I’ll say it a thousand times… my support system is 10/10.
Their house greeted me with positive energy, as well as a few friendly ghosts (not kidding) and afforded me the freedom from stress while I figured out what the hell I was gonna do with my life.
It wasn’t until a conversation with a friend that I even considered buying a house, but of course that was the move, and fortunately, I set myself up to be in a financial position where I could be an independent young woman making offers on single-family homes.
Without thinking, I said out loud, ‘I WILL be a homeowner.’
I won’t take you through the whole lender process, the weird mark against my credit, or the fact that 80% of the houses I liked were under contract within 24 hours of being placed on the market.
Instead, I’ll tell you I surrendered to the universe completely, letting myself experience each moment with an openness I’d never had the audacity to feel before.
And as I sit here on my last night in this Air BnB (that smells of incense and essential oils), I can proudly say I’m in negotiations on a 4-bedroom house.
“Devon… this is crazy because no one gets the first house they put an offer on, but I think you’re gonna get it,” my realtor called an hour ago, “we’ll know for sure tomorrow, but everything looks good.”
Blame Gabby Bernstein for all the ethereal talk – her book has changed my life.
Update *** as I finalize this piece, I received THE text… y’all, I’m under contract!
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