I’m not sure exactly how, but I have gotten so far behind on a post I initiated amongst my blog supporters, Liz and Alyssa. We have been going with a theme and holding each other accountable for posting words about a certain topic. The topic I seem to have missed was about a memory. And I think I know why.
The memory that I immediately thought about was the memory of when I moved to New York City. I imagine that the reason why I have had difficulty with posting this one is because I have so much going on and I am actually in the process of leaving all of what I have in the city behind.
What does one do when he/she is exhausted? I mean really exhausted. There is no hotel which claims to take care of informing your employer/s and friends when you reach a point when the color has disappeared from what was vibrant and sustainable. Once the point is reached, it is an internal scavenger hunt for techniques to make the need for a new beginning seem legitimate. The need to make a plan that reads smart and thought-out becomes crucial.
So, there is much to examine. For now, I want to go back to a post I should have completed a couple weeks ago. I want to write about what brought me to Brooklyn— to a place I am at, where I have so many people I am finding so hard to leave.
When I was just 24 years old, I received a call from my friend Cathy. Her sister lived in Park Slope, Brooklyn and was in search of a roommate who was from out of town and really wanted to move to NYC and was willing to drop everything. When I heard of this, my mouth dropped. I felt I was the person she and her 3 roommates were looking for.
At the time, I thought that a miracle was the only thing that would get me out of my situation. Against my family’s warnings, I had majored in theatre and had been going through a difficult time, figuring out what the next step in my life would be. I had recently blown off an offer to work for a Christian-based theatre company where I would have been making a lot of money to pretend to be what I managed to succeed at pretending to be during my call-back at a large audition event.
Turning down the offer and another offer that just felt like the wrong choices left me feeling like I was crazy for not just taking whatever life had handed to me as work. But I did turn it down. And then I got the call from Cathy. I realized during the call that the only thing I needed was to move to New York and I knew in my heart that I would make it work. Despite the look of doubts in the faces of my friends and family, I still knew that I would make it work and proceeded to sell what I had to sell and broke the news to friends and family.
I would have been here in NYC for 8 years in April of this year. The story that I have to share as a memory is one that I currently replay on a daily basis. The fact that I am going over my story so often has prevented me from feeling validated in writing it down. But, I am writing it down now. Mostly, because it feels nice to see that I can write out a passage and am able to follow through on a project that I formulated with my friends who are supporting my blog endeavors.
My dream of living in New York is not an easy dream to let go. However, I am moving forward and find myself, now, sketching out the blue prints of my future where the dream I thought was so pie-in-the-sky to live in such a wonderful city is shifting into an acceptance that I can do a 180º and not look at it as a loss, but a gain.
One step at a time. I am striving to allow myself to take the future as it comes. I have worked my ass off to make it all work this long and I will continue to work and allow awesome opportunities to present themselves. I could probably use an inhaler. And I still heart New York.