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.

Dancing The Tightrope

I do not see my life as one long string of events - I see my life as a series, in compartments, segments, phases, if you will, joined together to create the person I am at the time.  I enjoy life as I live it, and dissect it as it passes.  I over think, overwhelm, and become completely immersed in various aspects I find I am the most passionate about.  I go in waves and stages, up hills and down valleys, and in the end, I try to be the best me that I can be, hoping that in the end, I come out stronger, wiser, possibly more flexible, but overall more rounded and experienced.  I yearn to learn and grow and find more and more about who I am and what I want.  That may be the best way I know to express who I am - a curious creature trying to learn and explore, make mistakes and fall, get up, try again, and embrace all I can pick up along the way, even if I don't see it at the time.

The thing of it is, I'm sure I will learn from this. I'm sure I will grow and this will help me become the person I one day will be, but in the meantime? I have no other way to tell you other than having your heart broken completely fucking sucks. This crawl into bed under the covers with a roll of toilet paper because you ran out of tissues can't wash your hair want to constantly vomit what is he doing who is he sleeping with why can't I sleep why can't I get out of bed why hasn't he called me is he thinking about me I'm thinking about him why doesn't he miss me why doesn't he love me where did my life go sucks.

Yes, I'm reading a self help book to self help myself.  Yes, I have Gilmore girls on marathon mode. No I'm not eating much. Yes, I cry in the shower. And in bed. And on the subway, and the on the sofa, and at my desk at work, and in the library with Mr. Mustard and the Wrench.  Yes, I loved him. No, he did not love me back. Ever, as it turns out. Yes, I feel wasted - learning experience or not, unrequited love sucks a giant rock. Yes, I feel awful about my self and self worth. Yes, I feel completely unloveable and rejected. Yes, getting out of bed is consistently difficult when all I want to do is hibernate, and come out when everything is better. And yes, having your heart broken is not a fun experience, especially when it is the same person duplicating the dumping.

It's hard for me to look at this objectively right now, as I am in the midst of some pretty serious sadness(which, for the record, is the absolute worst feeling in the world, as far as I'm concerned).  I don't necessarily regret things overall, because every experience is important and teaches you something about yourself, but I can't help but kick myself a little bit.  Maybe, the only reason you should ever take someone back is for love. Perhaps that was my big mistake - falling prey to the crawling back without a drop of the L word (no, not lesbian). I fell for the promise and maybe lines. The "I don't know if I'm going to fall in love with you, but I know that if I don't at least try, I will regret it for the rest of my life". That may be some serious bull shit, folks. I understand that some things take time, but if you are with someone for a year and a half and you don't know if you love them? Spoiler alert, you probably don't.  Is there a nicer way to say "shit or get off the pot"?  It's that, but prettier.  

I suppose I can look at this as wisdom to my future wiser self.  Next time, I will not wait for someone to come around. They probably will not. And even if they do, why would I want someone who is settling for me? I know on some level that I deserve to be loved. Do I feel that way right now? Of course not.  But I may soon.  The worst part about all this is that it takes time, and I am unbelievably extremely impatient.  Therefore, I am dealing with this as best as I can, for now.  I'm talking about it, writing about it, working out about it - exponging it from my system as best and as quickly as is humanly possible.  I feel like it just has to get out.  And the worst part is that in order to move on, I have to feel all the things I don't want to - and even worse than that, I have to do it while missing him.  Because doesnt that blow?  Missing someone you can't even have?  Or perhaps it is mourning the death of the relationship like the death of a family member, and knowing that you can't push it down to get past it - you have to mourn it to move on.  Now, if only I could figure out how to turn this mourning into a movie montage, complete with the part where I get it all together and have an amazing life and amazing body and run up the steps in Philly while punching my fist through the air.  Ah, goals.

The main thing that is really getting me through this right now?  My friends, and my family.  I honestly don't know what I would do without them.  Most of them are not near me, but it is the abundance of phone calls, text messages, Facebook messages, movie watching, bed talking, and hang-out time that is keeping me sane and helping me get through the heart break.  And it's incredibly hard to re-learn how to be okay with being alone.  Not alone in the single sense, but alone in the no-one-else-is-home sense.  It's frighteningly hard to be alone with your thoughts, especially when they can overwhelm and consume you, and this is probably the absolute toughest thing for me right now.  But I'm working on it.  I am also throwing myself into work - trying to pick up whatever projects and responsibilities I can (which is insanely tough since I'm still pretty new here).  I have signed up with my step mom to run a 5K in October to fight childhood obesity.  I'm signing up for a Volleyball league for the fall.  I'm making plans, keeping busy, and trying to find time in between to feel the things I'm supposed to without losing my mind.

So, that's that.  Welcome to the inner workings of a woman's mind during a break up, or as I like to call it, "Dancing the tightrope".  Because that is what I'm doing - walking a fine line between okay and not, riding emotional rollercoasters and trying to make sense of myself again.  Journey on.