Last night before going to bed my mom came in and told me I should close my window because the noise on the street would probably be too loud for me to sleep. I had to laugh to myself because even the fairly nearby 202 freeway can’t come close to the fights, sirens, car alarms and partying outside my open window in Harlem every night of the 6 months I was there. Do I miss it? Well yes, in some strange, sad way I do.
Yesterday I was flipping through the channels and stopped on a new show set in Manhattan and out of nowhere was almost in tears at how much I missed it.
Why then, every wants to speculate am I back in Arizona?? Did something happen there? Did something happen here?? There must have been something major thant I’m not talking about to make me come home. Well in a way there is. An epiphany of sorts….yes there were other factors but the main one was this: no matter how much I love New York, a city will never love me back.
It didn’t quite take me the six months I was there to realize that the cities treasures fell a little shallow when I didn’t have the people I cared about there to share them with. Yes, I was living out a life long dream, but that’s the funny thing about dreams, they rarely turn out exactly as we had expected. In my case I realized that the expense and even more the distance between my family and friends was just not worth it when I could just as easily spend my time writing at home without missing out on what really matters. People. Experiences. Even pain, and all of that is what makes up life and whether we can see it through the fog of the moment or not, it is what makes everything worth while.
A city, no matter how much it may offer, can never offer anything more than a background for the dramas of life, and I was tired of missing out on them.
So…call me weak, call me flaky, call me a quitter if want. But don’t forget to call me brave for giving up one dream when reality taught me what was more important: Life.