For those of you who know me (which is few and far between of you I would guess), I spent the past nearly three years attempting to make a life for myself with the X in New York City–the city that never sleeps.
Now NYC for most people is a place where dreams are made. A place that inspires and instigates excitement deep within one's core.
For me, NYC was...exhausting.
I used to explain to people that NYC was simply bustling with too much humanity. That the daily grind made my teeth hurt. And I wasn't exaggerating in the least. I woke up each and everyday with that ever present sense of dread I mentioned a few posts back. (I'd totally hyper link you but since my blog at this point is only four posts, you can find it yourself kids).
I look back at my life there and I am always shocked to find that I truly, deeply, disliked NYC.
I loved my friends. I loved the X. But the city itself never settled into my core, I never had a rush of "oh my god I must live here" before the relocation and it never really found a place in me. Instead it sat like a half-pound blue cheese burger in my gut, perma-settled in my stomach.
And now, I feel lighter. Feel more at home. But the X still keeps me up at night. And maybe its because I finally realized it wasn't her that initiated the desires to throw myself under oncoming subways but rather the city that housed the subways themselves.
And that my friends, is as unsettling a realization as one can have at this stage in the game.
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