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A good friend once told me you have to go backwards to go forwards.
And I do think a lot of the answers are in the past.
Or at least the perspective I craved.
Being somewhere I lived for 8 years, I kept expecting to run into younger versions of me. Like we all still coexist there.
And on some level we do.
The me that consulted in midtown, I almost glimpsed her through the glass doors in her white Mad Men-esque suit.
The me who commuted to Times Square every morning for 3 years, I traced her footsteps into the subway of Wall Street.
The me who first moved to the city in 2000, I swear she was just across the street in Grammercy. I almost waved.
Each place invokes a memory, a time past. A me that once existed as surely as this one does right now.
And each version had her strengths and weaknesses. But she was there. Marking time and living a life.
The greatest blessing was my trifecta of friends (A, Z, and B). In their eyes, I saw who I had been. Who I still was to them. Who I could be again.
Lately, I feel like I’m stuck. Waiting. Like I hit the pause button and my life hasn’t restarted yet.
I want it to. I’ve given two years to the dream of writing. At the expense of everything else in my life.
At the time, it felt necessary. Required to be become a better writer.
But now. Things are shifting inside me.
I want more.
It doesn’t mean I’ll stop writing, but it means writing will be a priority. Not my only priority. And I think I’ll get closer to happy for it.
No matter where it is…there is a place you consider home. For the past six years, it has been my one bedroom apartment in FiDi. It is all me. The clutter. The books crowded into double rows on each shelf of the bookcase. It’s like you can walk in and sense me everywhere. Knick knacks and mementos of my life sit in the hutch of my secretary desk and along cabinets. It’s mine–through and through.
But soon, it won’t be. My parents colonial on 2 acres will be home come October. It’s a big shift. I haven’t lived in a house since I was 17. And that’s…um…a while ago.
I haven’t gardened since I was a teenager (yes a very weird teenager who liked to garden). I can feel things shifting inside me, feel the ground under my feet rumbling. My world is changing again. Monumentally. I’ve had job changes in the city, but not a major overhaul like this. Suddenly, it starts to feel so real. As if only when a deadline is imposed does anything assume importance. Soon, I won’t be able to order sushi whenever I damn well please. Or get amazing Chinese at 10PM. But there are pros. Of course there are. Otherwise, I’d be a complete idiot.
I need a break. This city is beautiful and ugly, intense and isolating, full of possibilities and lost dreams. It’s such a paradox. I spent roughly 8 years of my life here. Shit that’s 1/4 of my life here. I don’t want it to be the only place I spend my adult life. I want to see the world. I want to believe in things and people. I want to see more of the good and less of the evil. Not sure if that is even possible, but I’d like to try.
Soon coming home with be a small town called Wolcott, CT. A place I spent the first 17 years of my life. I think it will be good to see more of my parents. I want to reconnect with old, dear friends. I want to try something new. I am going to take a leap of faith and put all my trust in myself. Hopefully this home will be as good as the last one.
Did you ever want something and not want it at exactly the same moment? I have. I crave stability and security. I build an entire world and then it starts to suffocate me. And inevitably, I desire change as much as I fear it. Until it reaches the tipping point and finally I smash my world to pieces.
I’ve lived in my apartment 6 years. I’ve made friends in the city. Built a solid life here. But I am tired of seeing grown men peeing in broad daylight on a building. I am sick of the rat race. Something in me wanted out. It was only a matter of time before the economy impacted my day job. My bread and butter. That severely impinged upon my writing time. Double edged sword.
So yesterday, I was laid off. Third time laid off since I started working as a fresh faced college grad. I’ll be okay. I have a good savings. I have a plan. I’ll be able to write more. This will all work out. But it’s tough to say goodbye to everything that was familiar. It’s hard to let go before I wanted to. The sadness and the excitement are so bizarre to have simultaneously. This is an ending and a beginning. There is uncertainty but also possibilities.
Another turn on the wheel of fate. I wonder where I will end up this time.