It's All So Magical

“Happiness depends more on the inward disposition of mind than on outward circumstances.” - Benjamin Franklin

I spent a majority of my life wanting, yearning, dreaming of living in  
New York City.  

When I was 3 years old, I saw The Rockettes on TV performing at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.  When I was 4, my mom enrolled me in my first tap class so that I could, one day, become one of those professional long-legged chorus-line kickers.  When I was 5, my parents took me to my very first Broadway show (to be fair, I saw two that year, and I can't remember which one was first - Peter Pan or The Secret Garden - either way, lucky kid, right?).  I very clearly remember that while we were standing in line to get in to the theatre, a homeless man was walking up and down the mass begging for food.  I insisted we give him money, and my father gave me a $5 bill to hand to him, which I did, with the firm grasp of my mothers hand on mine.  I don't remember what we ate for dinner, I don't remember the train ride, and I don't remember much of the shows (except the flying and the garden set and the cast of The Secret Garden saying a teary eyed "farewell since it was their closing performance).  Yet I can still picture the cool breath in the air, the lights of Time Square, and being in awe of the enormity and magnitude that was this giant place, this cement playground, this city of lights.

When I was 6, my mom took me in to the city for a special Mommy-Daughter day.  This may have been around the time she was pregnant with my brother (as I distinctly remember purchasing a pregnant Barbie Doll, where you could take a baby out of her springy-plastic belly - so strange).  We went ice skating at Rockefeller Center, had hot chocolate and soup at the Plaza, then went and played in F.A.O. Schwartz (where knocked-up Barbie was obtained), the coolest toy store at the time.  I remember riding home with my mom on the train, opening some of my new toys, and feeling really lucky to have gotten to spend an entire day with just my mom.  It was one of my favorite days of all time.

When I was 16, my Dad got remarried and moved to New York City - 97th and Broadway, to be exact.  My only thoughts at the time?  How stinkin' cool!  Now, I'd be spending every other weekend in the greatest city in the world.  Every weekend became an adventure.  My Dad and Step mom would take us to museums, parks, restaurants with foods I had never tried, street fairs, shows, and flea markets.  We spent one summer searching for all the NYC Cows (check it out: cowparade), and found most of them.  It was a massive culture shock, and one of the best things to ever happen to me.  It was also when I decided that no matter what, New York was where I needed to be.

It took me until I was 24 to get there - it took college, money, strength, support of my wonderful friends and family, a new job, and finally building up my own courage to pack my life into a U-Haul, cram 8 friends (and one mini Caraline jumping on my mattress) into a minivan, and drive the 60.3 miles to my new home in Brooklyn.  It was probably one of the toughest, greatest things I have ever done, and my life will be forever changed because of it.

("So I crammed my life in a U-Haul, to find my part of it all")

There are moments, late at night (or morning 2am-ers, in this case) that thoughts start racing.  The air is still and calm, my breath slowly releasing in the cool winters night, the bass line blasting through the wall of the apartment next door - it is now that I am able to take a step back and realize:

 I'm here.
Sometimes I simply can't believe it.

I look at my life - at what it is now, and what it was before - and I can't always understand how it came to be - how I got here.  I have grown so much, transitioned so many times, and learned so many lessons, good and bad.  I know I am a constant work in progress, and I am only now becoming the adult I had always envisioned myself being.  I am finally focused on what I am and what I want to be - what I'm capable of - versus what I should be,what I always imagined I was supposed to be, or what people expected of me.  I now understand none of that matters.  Was matters is being me, for better or for worse.  And at the end of the day, I think it's important that I remember this point:

I am really proud of myself.  

I don't say this to toot my own horn.  I don't say this to pat myself on the back, or imply that I've done something no one else has ever done.  I say this to remind myself that I have come a really long way since that scared little 17 year old girl, frightened of leaving home for college, or the teenager, scared to ever speak up for herself or fight for herself, all the way down to the 8 year old, who didn't even want to walk to school alone.  I spent years dreaming of living in what I believed to be the big, scary, magical New York City.  Now that I live here, I can assure you: it is, in fact, magical.  As far as the big and scary part?  Well sure.  That's there too.  But it's a really fun adventure.