In the process of packing up my apartment to move an annoying 0.6 miles down the street, I’ve uncovered a multitude of forgotten items stowed away in my little one-bedroom apartment.
Like a random box of summer shorts + dresses…just in time for fall. Awesome.
A pile of stale Raisinets gathered in the narrow hiding space between my bed + the wall that I distinctly remember eating at 2:37am or so in the morning after a late night out at the bars last winter. For the record, I also distinctly remember that chocolate-covered raisins will do nothing for easing your hangover the next day.
A Saved by the Bell trivia game I totally forgot my sister gave me for my birthday last year. If you’re thinking what I’m thinking, then Zack Morris + I totally have a hot date in my new apartment this Saturday night.
Discovering these seemingly meaningless things suddenly made me tear up as the realization hit.
I’m moving out of my very first apartment.
The apartment where I signed the lease…and only I signed the lease. The apartment where I hit a stroke of luck and created Pumpkin Molasses Cookies. The apartment where I didn’t buy a couch for 1 1/2 years deeming Anthropologie shopping sprees more important. The apartment I rented with the salary from my first full-time job. The apartment where I hosted my first dinner party. The apartment where I realized that even though I’m 26 with a “real” job and responsibilities, eating cereal for dinner is totally acceptable. So is falling asleep on the couch at 8:30pm in work clothes + full make-up. And bringing your laundry home to your parent’s house to do.
You see… about two years ago on a warm, sunshiny August day, I moved back to Madison wondering if I was about to make the stupidest mistake of my young Everythingtarian life (although looking back, we all know the stupidest mistake I’ve ever made was thinking long-sleeve, button-up denim shirts were cool…that and not using hair product until 6th grade).
Moving back to my college town…without my college friends?
Moving back to the same city as my first long-term ex-boyfriend?
Starting a job I felt utterly + completely unqualified for?
I tried not to show it, but I was not looking forward to moving to Wisconsin. Like, at all.
But then I moved into this old, character-filled apartment, and as I scrubbed the floor boards clean and put away dishes in my new cabinets, I happened upon a teapot that was left behind by the former tenant. But it wasn’t just any teapot…it was a teapot with a holly print on it.
In case you haven’t caught on, my name is Holly! And there was a teapot painted with holly vines + berries all over it! Annndddd, in an apartment that was otherwise completely stripped bare, only this teapot serendipitously remained!
In my fragile state, I took this as a sign. A sign I had made the right decision to move. A sign that everything would work itself out. A sign that Madison was where I was supposed to be for some unknown rhyme or reason that would be unveiled to me later…when the time was just right.
And then, at a time when I was a solid vegetarian, I ate a cheeseburger.
And somehow, things seemed better.
It wasn’t this exact cheeseburger, per se.
But that’s not the point.
The point is that things have a funny way of working how they are supposed to work.
Head over to Wisconsin Cheese Talk to see this step-by-step recipe for Sweet & Spicy Wisconsin Jalapeño Cheddar Stuffed Cheeseburgers and make one for yourself. Trust me, it’s a sign.