I should be cleaning. Unpacking.
I’ve been here three weeks now.
Three weeks without the hustle and bustle of New York City Streets.
Three weeks of falling asleep to just the sound of crickets and the wind through the trees.
Three weeks of waking up to sun in my windows, and no construction pounding away at 7am.
Three weeks in the room I grew up in, with the pictures on the wall that I’d framed in college.
Three weeks of looking over at James Dean, Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn lined up beside my closet door like cool reminders of what to pair.
21 days of driving, in a car, in the driver’s seat, fiddling with the radio because all my favorite stations have changed.
21 days I’ve stared at boxes of books, and stuff, emptied shelves of things I can’t imagine I ever thought I’d need again.
21 days without my personal trainer, first world problems.
21 days of being surrounded by the life you always think you leave behind, until you show up, and move back in.
You think you’re this big different person.
New clothes. New music. New books. New beliefs. New skills.
New ideas. New thoughts. New favorite scents. New insecurities.
New favorite quotes. New language. New friends. New confidence.
21 days of being surrounded by all the things familiar to me and realizing, even with all this new, I’m not so different.
The old is still there.
Old favorite books. Old favorite movies. Old problems. Old arguments.
Old insecurities. Old friends. Old fights. Old favorite songs.
But I am different, even with these, oh I am. They’ll tell you. I’ll tell you.
I’m older, I’m wiser. I’m bigger, I’m smaller. I’m braver, I’m scared-er.
I went from big time New York City, living in a tiny two-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side to a small suburb of Boston, living in a big 15-room house, with a yard and a tree swing and a tree house and a porch that used to lead to a pool.
Oh, and a dog. There’s a dog too.
But after all the changing, there’s so much that’s still the same. All the things I pressed ‘pause’ on and left behind. They’re waiting for me to press ‘play’ and finish the story. And that’s okay. I might be ready now. Maybe.
So. I’m here, and I want you to know, I’m happy and I’m sad.
I’m happy to have a new job that I love. I’m happy to have room for all my clothes in the numerous closets here. I’m happy to be surrounded by family and friends that have accepted and loved me, even after they got to know me.
I’m sad to have left my New York family. I’m sad to have left a life where I could support myself – and then some. I’m sad that here I don’t break out into dance mid-song because here there’s no Emily to come around the corner at work with her big smile and call out, “Dance Break!”
Some days the happy takes over, and some days the sad takes over.
At the end of the day, it makes me happy to know that what I miss, that what makes me sad, is the incredible people and experiences I had during my time in New York. I’m happy to know that in New York City I created something, I was part of something that I miss.
It is a blessing, to have this as a reason to be sad. It is a blessing I am so, so grateful for.
But sometimes, I just can’t help it. I’m happy, and I’m sad and I guess I’ve figured out how that could be.