Hello again. Did you think I gave up? For a second there, I thought I would. But I’m back. Instead of reflecting on just this week, I want to offer you more for my absence. Nothing too remarkable happened during the beginning of February, so much so that I felt uninspired, unable to corral my thoughts into something I thought you would value reading.
But now I’m doing it anyway. I know this installment focuses on the future, but what I really want to talk about is drive, and the past and the future converging on this single moment.
The beginning of February was very uneventful for me. So uneventful that I sat down to write and couldn’t come up with anything to say. I didn’t have any ruminations or moments that stood out to me as particularly “worthy.” I ended up with multiple blank documents.
A Bullseye (thrown by me) at my friend's Axe-Throwing Birthday party
When I go through my photos (the best moment-tracking device I have), I find snapshots that, in retrospect, I could have put together to create something. I cooked a Chipotle lookalike bowl, I went skiing, and one of my coworkers was edited into a semi-viral TikTok.
This February I really focused on self-care, companionship, and my uneven work schedule. Despite not taking a single day off this month, the past week was the only Friday I’ve worked. It feels like I’ve been running between shifts, which is another reason I’ve been less active here.
An early highlight was skiing, which was beautiful. The views took my breath away. It’s incredible how vast this place is, and I’m only talking about one mountain in Vermont. You could see trees, powder and slopes to the horizon.
Views from Vermont
I also had fun testing myself. I’m not a prolific skier, but I enjoy getting out. It’s thrilling to feel your muscles moving in cohesion, a machine that knows exactly what it’s doing until you think about it too hard.
I had a fun night with one of my friends early in the month where she came over and we chatted, watched a movie and ate dinner together. It was very simple, but it brought me a lot of joy. We went out for cookies and brought one to a coworker, giggling like thieves the whole time. Simple nights like those are sometimes my favorite ways to spend the time. Acting nefarious and cracking jokes.
In the middle of the month I got to reflect on my past. Amid working my crazy (and inconsistent) hours, I visited my college with some of my friends from that time. It is always fascinating to me to compare our differing lives. I know that’s probably not good practice, but I can’t help but pay attention to it.
Different not only from when we were all in school together, but also from where we each are now. Most of my college friends still live with their families and are in careers they feel uncertain about. And while I can relate to their uncertainty, it’s evident that I have a lot more independence, comparatively. I feel both grateful and a bit isolated. I miss my family and it’s hard to go so long without seeing them, a situation my friends cannot relate to in the slightest.
We had a lot of fun at our college. It was great to stomp across campus; I could almost imagine our backpacks on our backs, heading to a dining hall together as we would have done when campus belonged to us.
It brought back a feeling familiar to me since leaving my home state of Minnesota. It’s a feeling of underlying unsurety. On campus, even at my most confident, I knew this place would not be mine for long. Similarly, I know my apartment will not be mine for long. There’s a transience to these places that I never felt before I left.
I remember playing in the dirt as a child, knowing with absolute certainty that this earth belonged to me. It was the mud that coated me, the mud I knew and was familiar with, the mud I recognized. I knew each mound beneath the grass, could identify the woodchip slopes leading to different spots of my backyard and recognized the rocks around our house. I could navigate the space with my eyes closed. Shortly after I left Minnesota, my family left my childhood home, and I’ve been seeking that feeling ever since.
There are things I can recognize with one sense at a time. I can recognize my own hands, the shape of my face, my hair. I can recognize the smell of my grandparents’ home, the sound of my dogs, or the taste of my dad’s homemade chex-mix. Pieces of the world that will forever be mine and mine alone. That feeling, though, has evaporated since college.
Living in dorms, apartments and temporary housing, it always looms that the space will never truly be yours. It’s not a space that belongs to you. Never a space you’ll know as intimately as you know yourself or the carpet in your childhood home.
But I can revisit the school and things remain the same, mostly. They were still recognizable from the brief moment when the place was as familiar to me as it would ever be. And that, surrounded by the people who love the place as much as I do, was lovely.
Plus -- I got to watch basketball and scream at the top of my lungs. On an unrelated tangent, a man standing next to my friend had a conversation with his daughter that I will never get over. She said to him, "Daddy, that lady is really loud,” (about me). To which her father responded: “Yeah, but everything she says is right.” Take that. I know my basketball.
It was truly the final weekend this month (well before this one -- this one in which I’ve rested and actually had a moment to reflect), that has set the tone for my immediate future.
I was 15 the first time I visited New York City. Growing up in the Midwest, New York City was dazzling. I would see the vibrancy of the city in movies or TV shows and be entranced. It was busier than any place I knew and filled with an insatiable energy I recognized in myself. It was my dream to visit, my dream to live there, my dream to be swept up in the current of bright lights.
When I actually visited, it did not meet my glowing expectations. It didn’t take long before I felt like I was drowning, lost among the smells, the crowds and the movement. It didn’t help that I visited with my grandparents who didn’t let me leave the hotel after 5 pm.
I watched Friends in my hotel room, my heart aching as the on-screen experience with New York was so much more glamorous than mine cooped up in our hotel. They made New York City seem small. The city contained to an apartment building and a coffee shop.
It would take me a long time to grow past my initial distaste of the city. I condemned it with confidence. I swore off the city, saying I could never live there. Well, dear reader, guess where I want to move?
A Busy, Blurry Skyline
Yes. Almost 10 years later and I am going to try to get myself to the city. A feat that– for the first time– feels not only realistic, but also desirable. I’m eager. I want to see if I can do it.
This last weekend in February solidified that goal in my mind as if I was holding the keys to a future apartment in my hand. The skyline beckoned me. It’s silly, but I can finally feel that dazzle once more.
During my most recent visit, I toured a potential office and spoke to some people who might be able to help me get there. I saw friend after friend who couldn’t wait for me to move and see them more often. Everyday, I was filled with more love, energy and excitement. It feels like the universe lit up a fluorescent sign saying: “This is where you need to be.” And I can’t ignore it.
Of course, we’ll see what happens. And you’ll be here as I figure it out.
I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. Don’t worry, though. I won’t forget you and I’ll try to be back here next week as we dive into the third month of the year already.
Until next time.
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