It’s my last week in New York. I quit my job, I quit my apartment, and I have no partner in crime. But that’s okay.
I’m sitting at a cafe in Brooklyn, eating a grilled-cheese-brussels-sprout sandwich and sipping on some crazy tea that tastes like a mixture of Sage, Rosemary, and Hipsters. I can’t get any real satisfaction out of making fun of it though, because it’s all delicious.
Anyways, I got to thinking (my one and only shoutout to Carrie Bradshaw, in honor of my departure from NYC) about “Home”. People always ask me how I’m able to pick up and move so easily, and I’ve never really known what to tell them. But I’m writing to say that I finally have an answer!–a somewhat lengthy one.
First of all, It’s not easy. Are you insane? You think it’s easy for me to leave behind comfort, stability, and most of all, the people I love? Nope. It’s heartbreaking, frightening, and very humbling. So why do I do it?
Because I have a fire inside of me. It’s constantly burning to remind me that life is temporary. Life is all I have, and I’d rather spend it searching for something exceptional, than settling for something satisfactory. And I know myself; if I were to spend the rest of my years in the same type of job, having only lived in one or two places, seeing the same kind of people every day, I would be an angry old lady filled with regret. We put so many chains on ourselves. We feel the constant pressure, the voice that tells us there’s a certain way to do everything, and we listen to it far too often. We say that we “can’t” all the time. We follow the lead of others because we’re afraid to lead ourselves. But being brave and pushing yourself past the limits of your comfort is rewarding. Even if you fuck it up, even if you’ve tried it once before and it didn’t pan out, even if you know you’ll be lonely. If you’re afraid of it, you should do it (unless it’s skydiving, because there’s no way in hell I’m ever doing that).
Last summer, after my mom moved out of the beloved house I grew up in and had so many fond memories of, I painfully discovered that home doesn’t have to be in a house, or a town. But now I find it’s better this way. You control your home. Home is a place in your mind, or a place in your heart. A sense of security that has nothing to do with where you are. You can bring your home with you wherever you go, and I have hundreds of them. Some of them swim in memories I have of my favorite breathtaking views from Hawaii, my favorite swing overlooking the mountains and the ocean. Some of them lie in words I’ve written while cozied up in blankets in my first New York apartment. Some of them hide in vacations I’ve taken with my favorite people, or in Twilight Zone episodes I’ve cuddled up and watched with my boyfriend. A special teddy bear from my brother, magical stories told by my Dad during childhood, the independence I got from my mother.
I am still devastated to leave the people I love most, but I know that it’s all for the worthy purpose of growing as an individual and exploring the unknown. I’m not ready to give up on the things I’ve dreamt…my imagination… my adventure. I do hope that one day I will be inspired to stay where I am, but only because I’ve accomplished the things I’ve wanted to, because I feel exceptional. Until then, Home is in my mind, and Home is where I dream it. Here I come, Los Angeles.
Hmm…I suppose I’ll be changing the name of this blog.