the new New Yorker

I spent my first Sunday night in New York insisting that an entire box of my clothing had been lost, stolen, left on the streets of Philadelphia or in the bowels of Dave’s parents’ garage, only to eventually discover I was missing but one lone black dress, which was residing safely in the closet of my best friend.

Whoops?

Such has been the state of this move: a little frantic, a little anxiety-producing, a little crazy on the part of one semi-short, semi-neurotic brunette, who swore up and down this was what she wanted (after swearing up and down for the previous year that this was most certainly not what she wanted.)

It’s a tough position to be in: playing the one who dragged not just yourself but your buddy too to a new, strange city, and yet not instantaneously falling in love upon arrival. I’m trying to remind myself that this shit takes time, that we’ve been here for only a few days and have not even unpacked all my purses (crucial!) but this transition is like a rollercoaster I keep forgetting I’m on. One minute I’m all up up up, padding downtown in flip-flopped feet, composing a love letter to the city in my head, and the next I’m trying not to cry in my new office and obsessing about all of the ways our apartment comes up short, despite the glaring fact that it’s really quite lovely for Manhattan.

It’s as if I have two speeds only these days: elated and very, very bummed; three if you count confused. As in, why am I not wearing pajamas right now? How do these elevators work? And where is that puppy? (Answers: because you now work in midtown Manhattan; press the button on the outside, country bumpkin; and vacationing at her grandparents.)

I’m actually happy to cling to the confusion for now, as I think it’s the most realistic and grounding of all the emotions currently zinging through my bloodstream. After all, I should be confused right? I’m in a new city! In a new state! With legalized gay marriage and Chipotles that serve margaritas! It’s crazy, but wonderful too, when you stop thinking too hard about all the repercussions and risks of your decision and start focusing instead on the availability of tequila. Perhaps if I just embrace the madness, the rest will even itself out soon.

2 Responses

  1. Moving, and adjusting to a new place, is really hard. I wish I could offer something more insightful, but all I can really say is: hold on. It will take longer than you hope. Like, a year.

    But you have a job! That takes out a big stress factor of moving, right there. And margaritas at Chipotle! And I think NYC has a way of making people fall in love, even when it’s difficult.

    Good luck!

  2. There’s a reason “they” say that moving is one of the most traumatic of life’s transitions. It’s tough as hell. But I bet you’ll be amazed at how quickly this new place will start to feel like home.

    Hang in there.

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