Saying Goodbye, For Now

By the time you read this, I'll be in my dad's truck, probably somewhere in Pennsylvania, headed back to Ohio. I hesitate to call it "going home," as Ohio has never really felt like home, while New York always has — infinitely more so now that I've just spent two months living, walking and loving it. People keep asking if I'm sad to leave, and the answer is of course yes, but also no. I know I can't keep living this life of limbo — living in the city, working from Ohio, with most of my things there, while I sleep in someone else's bed here — forever, so in a way it's not hard to give up. I know that no matter what happens when I return to Ohio that I have to get through it to move ahead. Sometimes I think you need to go back, before you can continue to move forward.

It seems like yesterday that my dad dropped me off here, and in a blink of an eye he's back again. At the same time, it feels like I've been here for years, especially when I look back on what I've done in just two months. I've seen museums, parks, monuments, d-list celebrities, breathtaking skylines, walked bridges, explored neighborhoods, collected coffee cups, rode a sky tram and photographed every single moment of it all.

I'm not the same person that came here two months ago, and I'm forever changed by what I've seen and done. I've learned more about myself in this time than I ever could have living my "old" life and no matter what happens I know I'll cherish and look back fondly on this time.

I'm so incredibly grateful for my wonderful family and friends, who always prove themselves to be selfless and amazingly kind in (and out of) my times of need. I'm so very lucky to be able to do what I do, love what I love, and have experiences that have made me want to leap out of my own skin with joy.

It's impossible to sum up my time here in any amount of words, but just know that I'm not terribly sad that I have to leave, but instead grateful that I got to come at all. There's nothing in this life that has more consistently brought me so much joy, enrichment and opportunity than this city has, and it has my eternal gratitude.

Sometimes, when you don't have the words, it's best to default to someone that does, so for the second time on this blog I'll leave you with a quote from my very favorite book, The Hours: "We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep — it's as simple and ordinary as that. A few jump out of windows or drown themselves or take pills; more die by accident; and most of us, the vast majority, are slowly devoured by some disease or, if we're very fortunate, by time itself.

There's just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) knows these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. 

Still, we cherish the city, the morning; we hope, more than anything, for more." 

I hope, more than anything, for more.