Feels So Good
I was never good at conceiving infallible plans. Knowing this, I’ve gotten in the habit of rolling with the punches and adapting to circumstance and to my wild miscalculations. I’ve learned to give myself some wiggle room.
So when I planned my move to NYC I hedged my bets on success here by leaving most of my stuff in storage, back in Florida, and taking on a very short-term NYC sublet (basically, renting someone’s room out from under them for a short time, six weeks in this case). I figured, if things didn’t go so well in this span, I could always turn right around and go back to Florida.
Things have not gone so well.
In six weeks I’ve barely learned how to get around town in the one lonely subway route that lands on Roosevelt Island, where I currently live. Nevermind finding a job or more permanent living space.
One thing I have found, though: I’ve found home. I’ve never felt so energized yet so at ease, so engaged in life, so interested in the world around me, as I am now. This is what I’ve always wanted. Always, like since childhood. And now that I’m here, I can’t imagine living any other way.
Sorry, Florida: you’re beautiful in your idyllic flatness and semi-tropical apery (I have lived in the Tropics and you, ma’am, ain’t the Tropics) but I’ve found a new love.
So I’ve decided: come hell or high water, I am toughing it out here. Because I’ve discovered what 8 million other New Yorkers already knew: a hard life here is far preferrable to an easy life someplace else.
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