Brief, Wondrous Pocket of Time

After spending almost a year in North Carolina caring for my father, I returned to New York City five months ago to reclaim myself. When I arrived I had no job, no apartment, and no prospects for either. I spent the month of March being passed from the home of one set of wonderful friends to another, and within three weeks I had both a job and an apartment in Manhattan. By mid-April, I realized that I was the happiest I had ever been in my life.

The months rolled by with magical ease. The most challenging aspect of my job was staying awake. The apartment was lovely, safe, and comfortable. I reconnected with old friends, made new ones, and enjoyed the splendors of the city. I went to the ballet. I spent a day walking around MoMA. I wrote a little, read a little, saw some movies, ate lots of good food, got drunk, and saw a homeless man masturbate. But not all on the same day.

I made peace with my ex-husband. I saw my healer once a week. I worked out almost every day, sometimes twice a day. Some relationships blossomed, others died. I cried more than once while walking the streets of my city…my beautiful city. My New York. I came home to heal, and I healed. The nightmarish experience with my father in 2010 now feels akin to the way many mothers describe childbirth: traumatic and painful while it’s happening, but a distant memory once it’s over…because the beautiful life that exists as a result of that trauma is the only part you remember.

But my time here in NYC has been bittersweet, because all along I’ve known it was temporary. I found out in February that I had been accepted to graduate school at Wake Forest University, so I knew I was going to come back to North Carolina even before I left it. Many people questioned my decision to come back to New York for only five months. Those people were not New Yorkers. My New York friends understood, and they are the ones who opened their homes to me, bought me dinner, got me drunk, helped me out, and took care of me.

Five months of your life are five months of your life. Five months, 22 weeks, 153 days. Time is not something to just get through or survive. This brief pocket of time in NYC has been one of the happiest periods of my life. It was the greatest gift I could have possibly given myself.

When I made the decision to move to North Carolina in 2010 after my father almost died, I set three goals for myself: save my father’s life, rehabilitate him, and get him home. I achieved those goals. When I made the decision to move back to New York City for a brief five months, I set another three goals for myself: save some money, say goodbye to my city, and heal. I’ve achieved those goals as well.

My next step signifies a major shift in my life. For the first time in more than a decade I will be able to direct all of my energy towards the things that are important to me. It will be the first time since discovering I was supposed to be a writer that I will get to focus solely on reading, writing, and using my brain. So my next three goals are simple: read, write, and use my brain. I’m going back to school to fill up my brain bucket with all sorts of neat stuff. And then I intend to pull from the contents of that bucket to write….whatever it is I’m going to write. And I can’t wait to share whatever it is I end up writing with all of you.

So thank you to all of the people who helped me come back to New York City for this brief, wondrous pocket of time. I’ve enjoyed it immensely. You are beautiful people, and I love you very much. And NYC, you are a beautiful city and I love you; please bring me back when it’s time for me to come back.

Now, it’s time to get to work.

Explore posts in the same categories: Major life changes, New York City

Tags: New York City, Wake Forest University

You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.