It’s June again, which means I’ve lived in Austin for two years. Not knowing who I’d meet, where I’d live, or what I wanted to do besides experience life in the city, I bought a one-way ticket and hoped for the best. Austin welcomed me with a stretch of 100-plus degree days like it knew I’d never experienced a Texas summer. The weather made my forehead sweat and my thoughts race as I quietly grappled with the uncertainty of this life-altering move.

Those first several months were a blur as I learned how to live, and I appreciated the support from family and loved ones in those early days. I found my roommate, then an apartment, and furniture to follow. We stood at the kitchen bar to eat before we found a dining table and chairs on Facebook Marketplace. One muggy July day stands out in particular: we shoved an unassembled couch up our apartment stairs, finally lugging it into our nearly empty living room as we clicked each piece into place.

These were not the glamorous parts of starting over in a new city like I envisioned. They were, however, my first formative moments in Austin, proof that life as a real adult was starting. I navigated the bus system, occasionally missing stops until the route felt familiar. I found a reliable walking route, which I traversed with the help of Google Maps. My daily rituals became an anchor in the chaos: phone calls home, familiar meals, and old playlists got me through that first year.

Texas started to heat up, and the spring bluebonnets faded. It was June again, and I’d officially been in Austin for a year. I had two roommates now with whom I shared dinner parties, inside jokes, and pickleball matches. I continued making friendships through work, in my neighborhood, and even on the bus. Life had a rhythm; I had space to breathe and free time to explore passions I’d paused while settling in. I answered a musician’s wanted ad in a Facebook group on a rainy weekday afternoon. Among a tangle of chords, amps, and sheet music, I played my keyboard in a stranger’s living room. I reconnected with music when I needed it most, and found community along the way. My newfound momentum invited me to be part of the city. Finally, I had a small corner that felt entirely like my own.

Between band practices, movie nights with my roommates, and busy work days, another twelve months passed, somehow. Life changed, gradually at first, until it hit me on a random Tuesday evening. Standing in our kitchen, we prepared to host my roommate’s trivia night. We cut up carrots and cucumbers to accompany cheese cubes for the charcuterie board. Adrienne Lenker’s “Sadness As A Gift“ played softly in the background, and we hummed along to the wistful tune. Two years ago, preparing meals would have been a solo activity. Hosting an event like this, in an apartment filled with friends, would seem unthinkable. 

I looked around, mentally capturing it all in a way my phone camera couldn’t quite get right; this apartment, filled with plants, paintings, and shared trinkets. This night, with these friends. It was a beautifully ordinary moment, and I’m admittedly afraid to let it slip by. Everything will be different next June. Our lease is ending soon. My roommates graduated, and our other friends are starting new chapters. Plans discussed over dinner and bus rides just a few months ago are in motion now.

I’m twenty-four now. With the return of June’s heat, I feel the city nudging me to start a new chapter. My forehead breaks into a sweat, and my mind drifts. Packing my life into two suitcases worked for me two years ago, but it won’t work for me now. I’m not the same person who got off the plane at twenty-two. Maybe that’s a good thing. Despite feeling more grounded in my life in Austin, I quietly wonder how many Junes I’ll spend here, and who I’ll become each passing year. Still, I want to make more music and invest in my hobbies, space, and community. Even with the questions floating around in my mind, I feel a certainty in myself that I didn’t have when I arrived. I know I am not done writing, performing at backyard showcases, and exploring the possibilities here. 

Peering out my window, I take in the busy scene below me. Cars pass by, and people walk into the shops and restaurants beneath us as the early summer sunset paints the sky with pale orange and gold. This is my city, at least for now. There are more Junes to come, and I look forward to every beautifully mundane moment in between.