Sunday is spent in a glorious Brooklyn hipster haze, with me strolling through the blocks surrounding Jack’s brownstone, exploring farmers’ markets and drinking like ten cups of coffee so I can find which place makes my favorite. Spoiler alert: they’re all delicious, and the more I traverse the streets of Park Slope, the more in love I am with my new neighborhood.

I give myself the day to do whatever I want because tomorrow is Monday. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life, and yeah, I’m embracing the cliché and I’m not even mad about it. Tomorrow is for bartender job hunting, and budget setting, and figuring out how the hell one starts a sustainable floral design company with no real experience.

You must be an idiot to think you can pull this off.

The words halt my steps, the negativity catching me off guard in the middle of this overwhelmingly positive day. For a second, I consider heading back to the brownstone, sprucing up my résumé, and applying for more soul-sucking finance jobs. It’d be easier to go back to the known than try for something completely new. Something risky, something that might actually make me happy.

But today is all about the good stuff. It has to be. Shoving the self-doubt into the back corner of my mind, I force a fake smile across my face, until the charm of my new neighborhood makes it real. I take about a hundred photos for my new Instagram account and buy far more bunches of flowers than I should at the farmers’ market, excited to get back to the house and arrange them in whatever vessels I can manage to scrape up. I brought a few of my standbys with me, but one of my favorite things to do is create arrangements in nontraditional vases. In fact, one of the first tenets of my as-yet-to-be-written business plan will be not buying new vases but rather repurposing recycled and vintage items.

Jack is nowhere to be found when I push through the front door in the late afternoon, an iced latte in one hand and five paper-wrapped bushels of flowers tucked in the other. I drop all my goodies on the kitchen counter before running upstairs to kick off my shoes and dump my purse. I stash my receipts from my floral purchases in a folder labeled “Tax Shit” before digging out my flower-cutting shears, mentally adding a cute gardening apron to my shopping list.