I never thought I'd leave New York. Never ever, ever, in a million years. And then a million years came, and I left.
It happened quickly, as things with me tend to do. Love, loss; it all happens very quickly. One day, I was talking with my boyfriend about moving in together. The next day, he had broken up with me and I was sitting on my best friend's couch, staring into space. I didn't have a Plan B. All I knew, all I wanted to know, was my life in New York with This Guy. And he didn't want that. He didn't want that at all.
Do you know that feeling that comes with a fresh breakup, that feeling of additional mourning because you now can't hang out with his best friend's girlfriend (who you really liked), or go to that coffee shop, or that bar, or that bookstore? Because you'll definitely run into him, and even if you don't, you'll be terribly reminded of him? That was how I felt about the entirety of New York City. This breakup had taken something so deep from me that I didn't even have a word for it. Everywhere I went, everyone I ran into, everything I saw, reminded me of him. And of my failing. And I had to get the hell out of there. As soon as humanly possible.
So I shook off this horrible feeling by buying a car and packing some stuff into it, and driving far, far away from there. And then, about a week later, that horrible feeling, it tracked me down in Kentucky. That bastard.
And so I went about trying to make a life here. I tried to make friends. I felt impossibly out of place. I think it was culture shock in a much more profound way than I felt when I moved to New York. But I tried. I am trying. I am trying to make this work.
I'm dating. I'm hanging out with my weird, crazy family. I've got some friends. I found a job. I'm doing this thing.
Dammit, I'm doing this thing.
Put your safety belts on, kids. Gonna be a bumpy ride.
It happened quickly, as things with me tend to do. Love, loss; it all happens very quickly. One day, I was talking with my boyfriend about moving in together. The next day, he had broken up with me and I was sitting on my best friend's couch, staring into space. I didn't have a Plan B. All I knew, all I wanted to know, was my life in New York with This Guy. And he didn't want that. He didn't want that at all.
Do you know that feeling that comes with a fresh breakup, that feeling of additional mourning because you now can't hang out with his best friend's girlfriend (who you really liked), or go to that coffee shop, or that bar, or that bookstore? Because you'll definitely run into him, and even if you don't, you'll be terribly reminded of him? That was how I felt about the entirety of New York City. This breakup had taken something so deep from me that I didn't even have a word for it. Everywhere I went, everyone I ran into, everything I saw, reminded me of him. And of my failing. And I had to get the hell out of there. As soon as humanly possible.
So I shook off this horrible feeling by buying a car and packing some stuff into it, and driving far, far away from there. And then, about a week later, that horrible feeling, it tracked me down in Kentucky. That bastard.
And so I went about trying to make a life here. I tried to make friends. I felt impossibly out of place. I think it was culture shock in a much more profound way than I felt when I moved to New York. But I tried. I am trying. I am trying to make this work.
I'm dating. I'm hanging out with my weird, crazy family. I've got some friends. I found a job. I'm doing this thing.
Dammit, I'm doing this thing.
Put your safety belts on, kids. Gonna be a bumpy ride.
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