New Yorker Status

I’ve been in the city for a week now.

My bedroom looks oddly similar to a crack house, my hamstrings are tighter than they were after my rock climbing adventure in Maine, running an 8miler in downtown Charleston, and that 5 hour yoga lesson I taught last summer combined.  There is more dust than I know what to do with on the upper ledge crown molding that runs throughout my apartment, and the OCD traits within me are currently being taunted because I don’t have a step stool to reach said collection of allergen holy ground. I hold my breath every time a cashier swipes my credit card, and I have to close my eyes when I withdraw cash from Chase ATM.

I don’t want to see my balance Chase.  YOU CAN’T MAKE ME.

Is this what dreams are made of?

Yesterday I asked someone how to successfully move in to the city.  After a weird glance was shot in my direction I said, “NO, REALLY.  Like how do you move all your shit in?”

They laughed in my face.

The only way I can be adventurous is to dive in full force without contemplating real life scenarios like money or sanity. I have to go in blind, completely naïve, and with an intense sense of childhood wonder.

Typically, this method proves to be severely flawed, and breeds lots of wine intake until some level of order is restored. 

But I don’t mind it.

Just when I really start to get pissed at myself for being a dreamer – I see some random guy playing a piano in the middle of the park or some lady burst out in song mid Target aisle, and the stress from the quickly fading balance in my checking account seems to vanish.

This city’s crazy talented people bring out a better side of me.

They force me to step outside of my box, they force me to smile, they force me to be accepting of everyone, they force me to see the opportunity in life, and they force me to keep dreaming. They are a daily reminder of why I wanted to be here.

Someone once told me if you want to be the best at something, surround yourself around people who are better than you.

That’s exactly what this city is.  The whole place is better than me.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s