In August 2015, I was given a new and unfamiliar task. In all of my time as a writer, I never had a platform all my own—especially not one that was published weekly and read by anyone. I’ve since cultivated an editorial voice in a space that has developed and evolved with my own self-discovery and growth. Starting first as “Altitude Adjustment” and later as “From the Editor,” I’ve inserted new lessons and familiar anecdotes, mostly inspired by my life: recent events, childhood memories, and most of all, thematic elements of home and change.
Last week my parents sold the house I grew up in. It was all very quick: they decided to sell it on Monday, it was put on the market on Thursday, and by that afternoon my parents received an offer. Our lovely Gunnison, Colo. home will be empty on June 15, awaiting its lucky new owners.
My feelings since hearing the news have been convoluted and complex. I am unwaveringly happy for my parents as they head into a new adventure and begin a chapter all their own—they deserve it. At the same time, it’s hard to say goodbye. That Crocus Road house is where I became myself, with so many firsts and lasts—I operated a car for the first time down that driveway, my best friend lived in the basement for a summer, puppies were born in the kitchen, we took group pictures for school dances, I cried over my acne, I wrote love letters to my first boyfriend (now fiancé), I opened my CU Denver acceptance letter while sitting on my bed. The end of an era has arrived, suddenly and unexpectedly.
I’m facing other shifts in my life right now, mostly grand and exhilarating. Graduation is significant, where my status switches from student to job-seeker, and I’ll have to figure out how to spend my weekends sans homework. My partner and I are happily moving to Glenwood Springs, Colo. post-grad, and I’ll be thrown into everything that comes from starting over—finding a place to live, the exhausting moving process, making new connections, defending my English degree to potential employers. My wedding is coming up, and I can only imagine what hurdles married life will throw my way.
A diploma will also represent a dominant—and likely the most difficult—change in my life: I’ll be hanging up my hat as Editor in Chief of the CU Denver Sentry. This newspaper has become an integral piece of my identity—since interviewing for the Copy Editor position, I’ve fallen in love with journalism, found my narrative voice, and uncovered passion for the industry, non-fiction storytelling, and publishing. Personally, I’ve become more assertive, confident, and driven.
I’ve poured my entire being into this newspaper. Between long hours and endless Tuesday nights, this office has become another home. The growth and success of this publication has been my personal and professional goal for three years, and letting go will be the hardest transition yet. I’ll miss everything about this job, from the lifelong friendships I’ve cultivated to the pizza-fueled pitch nights to being a badass woman boss in a male-dominated field; I’ll even miss the random interactions with strangers wandering into Tivoli #345 wanting to talk to the person in charge.
Childhood homes get sold, college towns are deserted, and even the best jobs end sometimes. Change comes and goes, and home becomes more of a feeling than a place. Adventure awaits. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for hearing my voice through it all.