I moved to NYC yesterday. After giving my parents several tight hugs and boarding my 6am flight, I still couldn’t believe I was actually doing it… It has been on my mind for so long that it felt like another one of my elaborate plans to seize the moment — in the future. But it’s here. I graduated college, packed my belongings (thanks to my excellent Tetris skills I was able to fit 90% of my things into one suitcase), and boarded a plane.
I tried to sleep the night before, but my mind would not sit still long enough to let me rest. I’ve literally been dreaming about moving to NYC since I was 15, but never actually thought I’d do it. NYC is for those who have their shit together. For those who have a nicely padded bank account. For those who have a job waiting for them. Or at least an apartment. Not for me. Perhaps in my dreams, but certainly not in real life. None of it felt real.
Until we landed.
The minute the wheels skidded to a stop on the massive La Guardia platform the other passengers began fidgeting from their slumber and something clicked. One minute I was sluggish and surprisingly serene and then suddenly I lost it. Face in hands, weeping. I don’t know why or how it happened, perhaps the nerves and lack of sleep finally caught up with me. Whatever the trigger, I didn’t seem to care that a hundred (however many people fit into a plane, idk) or so other people were trapped in an airplane with a 20 something female completely loosing her marbles.
I have no idea what this new adventure will bring. I’m not a psychic. From what I can tell thus far, I have a very hard time figuring out what I really want. I am, however, certain (this is very rare for me) that I am supposed to be in NYC. I will document my 1st year in NYC on here and will hopefully be able to look back and re-learn the lessons that will no doubt come from this year-long process.
Follow me. Or don’t. Whatever.
I’ll go ahead and pretend someone’s reading.