Category Archives: Control

Passing through the funk

The last couple months, give or take, I’ve not been myself. Or rather I’ve not operated the way in which I’ve operated let’s say the last 8 ish or so years. I lost a job that I wasn’t happy at and although I’ve been sending out requests to the Universe to help me break away from the organization I didn’t expect it to happen at the time it did and the way in which it did.

Funny how that works.

You put out your desires and it always comes back. The Universe may not answer your requests in the way that you predicted but it certainly responds.

To be fair it’s not to say I wasn’t grateful it happened.  To paint a picture I’ve got a metaphor. Those are always good to help visualize the situation.

Let’s say I was a pinata hanging off a tree in a pretty park. Getting fired was the last crack of the bat swung by the Universe that hit the pinata and now there lay all my life’s contents on the floor along with my cracked and broken pinata shell. What do I see you ask? Right here’s a reminder that I have a credit card bill coming up. Oh look, there’s a ‘go-get-’em-tiger’ well wishes card the Universe left me. Oh what’s that sharp ugly thing? Oh that’s my pride. And there, there are the dreams I have for my future career. And look, right here, I see my savings. Aww, there’s a picture of all the people that love me. Oh, here’s the shit I didn’t want to deal with but now how to face; fear. Somewhere in there is opportunity but it seems to be hidden underneath all these fun sized rainbow colored emotions.

Sensory overload and I didn’t know which to pick up and open first.

To further play on the metaphor I was being greedy and tried to open them all at once. As if one could stomach all that at once right?

So not right.

In turn what ended up happening was a magnificent sense of feeling overwhelmed and lost and frankly, sad.

I was navigating through the shock of being fired. The relief I no longer had to work for a boss I couldn’t respect and an organization I was checked out of. The gratitude directed to the Universe that it heard my plea. The confusion of not knowing what I wanted to do next but knowing I wanted to do it (whatever it was). The anxiety of no longer having that “stability” (i.e. healthcare benefits, monthly metro card, bi-weekly paycheck, unlimited PTO etc) and having to figure out logistics of living. The loneliness of not having my core supporters enveloping me in a big empathetic hug.

It’s been a tough couple of months. I spiraled. To be fair I also had bouts of good and motivation but it was really more of the I don’t need to shower it’s not like I have fun plans I am going to lay in bed and binge watch whatever I want while eating mass amount of Trader Joe’s chicken tacos with melted cheese on top and not think about how I have to let Huxley out to do his business at the minimum of 3x a day and run the risk of seeing my neighbors variety.

I tried to come out on top numerous times and to be honest I was getting pretty angry at myself. I was mad I felt some of these things when this was my clean break. Feeling lost and overwhelmed felt like I was lacking control. And that’s always been hard for me. The not having to control since most of my upbringing I was controled.

But I realize sometimes that simply a funk is a funk and a person may need to be funky.

It’s important to grieve. In this case I was grieving a job I took pride in and worked my ass off at. I was also grieving this career I made for myself over the course of 10 years. I was grieving a dream I envisioned and fulfilled in moving and living in New York. I was grieving for a part of me I was struggling to let go.

All the while procrastinating..

Procrastination is such a bitch. Seriously, it’s the worst.

Tell me why it’s so easy to procrastinate a dream, a goal, a desire? It shouldn’t be but alas here it was. Procrastination staring at me in the face and it was ugly and whispered very sinister things at me.

I had all these ideals that I couldn’t move forward unless I knew exactly what I was going to do career wise. I wanted to go from 0 to 60. It was just like me to turn my head to all the gray area.

I was feeling that if I wasn’t there (there being a insert job title here in this awesome new career at a fantastic non profit living a fulfilling meaningful life) immediately then I would be a failure.

Ok, unrealistic expectations much?

It’s a lot right? Yeah I put a lot of pressure on myself. And when I didn’t meet the pressures I was even harder on myself.

Cue back to I don’t need to shower it’s not like I have fun plans I am going to lay in bed and binge watch whatever I want while eating mass amount of Trader Joe’s chicken tacos with melted cheese on top and not think about how I have to let Huxley out to do his business at the minimum of 3x a day and run the risk of seeing my neighbors.

So.not.fair.

I feel like I’m at a turning point. Yay. I’m starting to feel more like myself. It’s a very welcomed feeling.

Here’s to uncovering the clues for beautiful opportunities!

 

 

 

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Identity

I’m sitting here in downtown Manhattan in the middle of a crowded DMV. I’ve lived here for more than 2 years now. I’ve had 3 home addresses. I’ve had 2 jobs. But for some reason renewing and changing my license from California to New York feels more permanent.

It’s as if I’m committing to New York all over again. This time my glasses aren’t rose colored, they’re slightly foggy and vision isn’t clear.

This time there are no expectations. There is only reality.

Frankly, I don’t quite think I’m in the right headspace for this emotional endeavor. I guess I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.

But alas, this is where I find myself. I’m sitting here and a part of me feels like my identity is being stripped from me. I don’t know how to describe it but it’s unsettling.

I am well aware I made the choice to move to New York. And I’m also aware I made it happily. and willingly. and on my own.

So much has happened since I first touched down in New York that hot July day in 2014. So much.

I am still me. But maybe I’m a more refined me. I’ve shed some parts of me while bringing in new layers of skin to help serve as protection and defense against New York’s sometimes harsh, yet (if you can see it) beautiful realities.

I can’t help thinking I may have also lost a little bit of me that I loved. I’m struggling to understand what that may be. I haven’t quite put my finger on it. Could it be the blind optimism I outwardly projected in every circumstance? Maybe it’s the knowing there was an unknown I had yet to discover.  I don’t know..

I’ve been told a lot that I carry myself like a New Yorker and people can’t tell I’ve only been here for a mere 2 years. In response I have mentioned that I’ve toned down the Cali pleasantries. (It’s a real thing.) But it’s more than that. I’m still well mannered and friendly and I still smile at strangers. But maybe a little bit of me has hardened and closed itself off. Maybe the naïveté and beginners luck has worn itself non existent.

I feel like I’m saying goodbye to something I now want desperately to hold on to. My identity is changing here in New York. I’m saying goodbye to California and the life I used to have. I already feel out of the loop with my best friends back “home”. And I know, vice versa. A lot of them don’t even know how I live out here or what a day looks like for me. It makes me a bit sad. I’m disconnected.

This is a goodbye to California. It’s real. And it feels more real since I already have a life here. I’m not starting over this time as I say goodbye. My life here is established. I’m just moving on this time. It’s hard. I wasn’t prepared for this.

I’m at an impasse. My heart is in stalemate and I’m not ready to say goodbye.

The 1950’s

**Full disclaimer: I am sorry but I am not in the mindset to proofread and edit so here is some raw material. Don’t judge me. But if you do, keep it to yourself. 🙂

You guys, I had a flashback earlier to when I was in the 5th grade. It could’ve possibly been in the 4th grade (i’m quite certain it was the 5th) but in this circumstance it’s all one in the same. I remembered having to do a report on a genre or decade of time. I don’t remember how we chose what we chose or if there was any significance to it but I had the 1950s. Again, my memory isn’t serving me specifically but you get the gist.

Somehow, I think of the 50s nostalgically. I haven’t lived through the 50s so I don’t have much authoritative knowledge on the topic but it was somehow a decade of meaning.

I grew up listening to Frank Sinatra, Bobby Darin, Rosemary Clooney, Dean Martin, Johnny Mathis and the like. I thought sock hops were the coolest thing and that hula hoop, how awesome was it to hula hoop? I think of those cul-de-sacs and how every home must’ve looked like the ‘Brady’ residence. And how everyone wanted a mother like June Cleaver who baked pies and shook her head at her kid’s antics laughing them off but loving them all the same. How Disneyland was a huge deal and the war was becoming a thing of the past. How Ford was revolutionizing transportation. How there were roller skating waitresses at carhops serving milkshakes.

How does this not all sound like a time you wanted to be a part of?

Anyways, I remember how big of a deal this homework was. There was research involved. I had to go to the library and legit scan through books and quote things. I had to submit notes that cited evidence. I had to really understand what it was I was reporting on.

I remember this being the first real project that took significant effort. I remember I chose the 1950s. I know somewhere alone the way there was some sort of consensus that took place. Maybe this project was a team collaboration and we respectively had our own assignments. I do remember knowing I wanted this decade. This era was mine because in some unexplainable way it was important to me.

What I also know is that tonight I was having drinks with a couple of co-workers and I found myself in the “washroom”. And in it there were posted clippings of presidents’ past. And out of no where I remembered this time in my life that I never thought to be significant. This time when I had to do a report on the 1950s. But this time that slapped me in the face out of no where while I was washing my hands in 2015 reminded me of a previous life.

It made me sad you guys. Really.

How can at such a formative stage in my life of me doing something I haven’t thought of in years and years and probably more years affect me so hard? And how could something that was a project that was soo hunge then feel so small now? It probably holds the same weight that a work presentation would have currently but thinking back it feels so far removed.

It was something I vividly remember being so important to me. It was something I really wanted to work hard on to showcase my effort and be proud of. Here I am, so many years later, it reminds me of a time that was so simple yet was so significant to a period of learning and growth. It was formative and it is important to notate.

I don’t  know if I know exactly why I feel the need to share this except for the mere fact that things hold weight. That memory will surprise you. That your life has moments of importance that you may not realize at the time but will most likely reveal itself later. That you should hold things dear to your heart. That a lot of things don’t change (I still have a deep penchant for Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, Sammy Davis Jr, sock hops, The Brady Bunch, Disneyland etc). That even if things are sad because the moment is gone the meaning still hold value. That I still love to gather things and make 1 big thing out of lots of smaller little things.

Tonight and this memory was just another reason for gratitude. I am sad because I am nostalgic yet I am satisfied because I am blessed.

Good night.

Teaching the little ones

I have such a greater appreciation for teachers since volunteering in Tanzania. I have never felt like I’ve wanted to become a teacher but I respect and admire those that do and those that are. It’s a commendable job that often doesn’t get the recognition it deserves.

A lot of the days I was left alone with the older ‘baby class’. Basically the 4 year olds who were more advanced. The other volunteer, Kelsey, would stay with Mama Frida in the ‘baby class’ of 3 year olds and a couple 2 year olds. And the 3rd volunteer, Claire, would be in the big kids class of 5-7 year olds with Madame Eva.The days when not as many kids showed up to school we would only split into 2 classes and Kelsey and I would tag team the ‘baby class’.

Below is myself, Mama Frida and Kelsey.

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My first day in my own class was trying to say the least.The problem was the communication barrier and not having an aide help translate or help keep the kids quiet and focused. Quite honestly, the first time I taught alone I left the school day feeling so frustrated and defeated. My patience was tested and I felt like I failed so I was disappointed in myself.

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I think the best advice I could give when volunteering in such a short period and when never having the experience before is to just allow yourself some forgiveness and patience. Cut yourself a break. Unfortunately, you won’t be able to save the world going into a program like this. There are time and financial constraints. What you can do is give what you can with compassion and love to the children. I had to remind myself when I became frustrated and felt hopeless that I had never done this before. That my purpose isn’t to change the educational system in Tanzania but to help provide support and to do what I can in the short amount of time I was there.I had to woosah and just roll with it. Kids are gonna be kids no matter where you are. I just needed to have fun with it and be patient!

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Any time the classroom started to get crazy and I would feel their focus start slipping away I would break into song. The kids loved to sing. They know so many English and Swahili nursery songs. It was fun to watch them get excited and become involved again. Or I would bust out the camera. The kids loved getting their picture taken and seeing it after. It was too cute.

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The other 2 volunteers and I taught them the hokey pokey when we were there. I forgot how long the song was and how much energy it required. It always left me winded. hah!

My lesson plans consisted of Math – numbers from 0-100, basic addition, problems that highlighted missing numbers etc; as well as English – going through the ABC’s, associating a word with each letter, shapes, colors, and body parts. Kelsey and I made posters for the classrooms as tools. I also used colored post its below to help re-emphasize colors.

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It was fun to go around the room and point at articles of clothing the kids were wearing for colors. They would get so excited and start bum rushing me and yell “teacha teacha” and point to their undershirt or their sock or what have you. Drilling the color purple into them was easy because their uniforms were purple.

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Sometimes I would take the kids outside to the painted mural on the side of the school so I could quiz them on animals and colors. Why there is a dinosaur with all the other animals I’m not quite sure.

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When my patience was severely tested I would break out the construction paper and crayons I would bring to school with me. I would have the kids draw through the alphabet with animals and objects or draw simple shapes that I would first draw on the chalkboard. When that failed, just having them draw anything quietly worked for me. It was fun to see them so excited about the colors. I would hand out each construction paper and have them repeat the color of it to me. I would do the same with the crayons. It was exciting when they knew the colors on their own and would ask for a specific one.

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It was even more adorable when they would show me their drawings proudly.

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Sweet Jennifer below never smiled and was very quiet but was so so lovable.

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One day the classroom I usually taught in was occupied by visitors. So we went to the church and I tried very unsuccessfully to teach them something. They were very hyper and excited to not be in the classroom. What happened instead was we sang a lot of songs, drew on construction paper, and when a couple of the boys ran around screaming through the pews of the church I conceded to what clearly was going to be a play day and I took them outside to do just that. I was told later that they could hear us in the other classrooms. Oops!

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I wasn’t always left to my own devices with my own class. Thank goodness! It was always such a great reprieve to share the responsibility of teaching with Kelsey or with Mama Frida. Kids have soo much energy.

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Look at all these adorable faces!

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On certain days we had workbooks that we give the children to practice their math. For the younger ones it can simply be tracing numbers for the older ones it was usually addition. They also had homework as well. One day I surprised Mama Frida and the kids with fresh new pencils. She was so grateful and full of thanks. Something so little can make such a huge difference and can go a long way in these schools. The kids were ecstatic! They always wanted the pencils with erasers intact and became really sad when they weren’t. This was huge for them.They broke out into a “Thank you teacher” very loudly and happily. It made my heart swell.

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Porridge time also was a bit of a reprieve. It gave us a chance to catch our breathe and observe these beautiful children.

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The stickers were reserved for really great days and a special treat for the kids. We would hand them out at the end of the day before we were picked up. The kids were so excited they got to choose which one they got.

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Each day that passed I fell more and more in love with these beautiful children. It proved to be very difficult to say goodbye. I’ll share that experience with you all soon…

Vulnerability

Think of this word for a minute.

Vulnerability…

This is a scary word for most people. For me, it’s quickly become a value I’ve learned to hold very dear to my being.

I used to live my life in false bravado. Meaning, I thought I had it. I had moments of vulnerability, moments of joy, of silliness, of contentment, of longing, of reflection, of love, of pure survival. I thought that was it.

This was my life. These moments. These feelings. They are familiar. They are consistent.

Then there was a shift that I experienced. I can’t pinpoint exactly when it happened. It was around 4 years ago. I decided what I had wasn’t enough. What I felt wasn’t all I could feel. Who I was wasn’t all I could be. I wanted to explore how I got to where I was; and really just more of who I was because of situation and circumstance that was beyond my control. I also wanted to open a door to who I had the potential of being.

I consciously took action and sought out therapy. I’ve always been interested in the psychology of the mind and how that plays out in behaviors. I’m a big believer in therapy and what that world can provide to people if they only opened themselves up to it.

I can’t say that I realized at the time what was happening to me. I can’t say there was a defining moment that was the catalyst of change either. I think honestly what happened was that I became bored of all I knew and I was cognizant that there was more to me. That how I showed up every day to the world wasn’t necessarily how I wanted to present myself. But to change how I presented myself I needed to understand myself. To do that is to be vulnerable and compassionate with yourself.

The shift happened subtly although the work and reflection was tough and is still an ongoing process. Trying to understand things that came about in my life while living in the bias that is myself and my life is really strange and so existential I kind of had to look at it from a new mindset. Like holy fuck, heavy stuff. What I’m grateful for is the ability to do so. All of a sudden things weren’t enough. All of a sudden my passions started to present themselves to me. All of a sudden I had a fire in me that burned through me waiting to erupt like a volcano and I wanted everyone to be on my level.

It had me vexed.

What happened next was enlightening; my ideas and my perceptions of myself expanded. I was trying to process so much of what I was learning from my past and what got my to where I was. Throughout that time of self awareness the relationship I was in no longer became the relationship that fulfilled me. I was made to be aware of things I wanted that my man was incapable of giving me; to no fault of his own. He saw that before I did. I saw potential. He saw truth. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out and with that I felt my heart break in ways I never thought possible. I thought that because of the place I was in, my expectation was that everything would ‘work out’ because of timing or that I made myself vulnerable to him or whatever the fuck have you.  I had never been in love like that before. Shit, I had never truly been IN love before. He taught me that. My relationship with him taught me that. I think that because I was in such a place of transformation and self reflection already and I fell in love during that time everything was magnified with such propensity.

Through the time of feeling completely gutted, broken heart in a million bloody pieces laid out on the table in front of me; I shed my soul. Literally and figuratively. I reacted in ways I never would have been able to before. I shared with whoever would listen about my heartbreak. I talked and cried and wrote through it. I had to look at myself, really look at myself and what I had become. I continued to go to thearpy. I asked my friends and family for help. That one was tough for me. I could never ask for help before but I did it in all my broken glory. For the most part my request was received and people supported me and held me in such a loving supportive safe space. In a couple instances it wasn’t but there were lessons there that I also value and learned from.

Through my heart break I was still learning of who I was and who I wanted to be. I decided then to be vulnerable. Vulnerable in my pain and my heartache. The people that showed me love and time helped me understand what it meant to have a tribe. There were a few other times in my life I was tested. When that happens people step the fuck up and show you who they are and what you mean to them. It’s a beautiful thing. Through my brokenness I was able to recognize that. It helped me get through the pain. I will forever be grateful for those that showed me kindness, empathy and love. Compassion is huge. It comes from vulnerability. It should never be underestimated. That shit moves mountains.

I have such a hard on for learning and I am addicted to TED Talks. Do yourself a favor and watch the Ted Talk Brene Brown gave on vulnerability below. She is amazing. Then spend your day listening/watching other talks. Expand your mind and learn something. It’ll make you feel good. I promise

 

 

Me

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Only in the recent few years have I begun to define who I am.  I think it’s only because in the last few years have I come to understand what has helped shape me by circumstance and what has helped shape me by personal choice. What has helped me accept and love who I’ve become is being able to differentiate the two.

I’m a younger looking 32. At least I like to think so and feel validation when asked to see my id.

I moved to NYC a little over 7 months ago and am recently realizing what a huge deal that was.

I am honest to a fault but have learned tact and am practicing holding back all my truth because not everyone wants to hear it.

I sometimes eat my feelings. I can’t decide if that’s an excuse or not becuase I love food that much. I have an extreme weakness for anything cheesy or carb loaded or fried or even better all three at once.

I love adventure but sometimes feel hindered by my lack of staying in shape and the fact that I can’t swim. As in I have the urge to jump off a cliff into the ocean but it’s probably not safe since I can’t swim. Or I would love to climb a mountain but not sure if my lung capacity can handle that.

I’m all belly but I mask it well because I know the types of clothes that accentuate what they need to.

I love reading but I love language even more. The words dance together and it’s beautiful. My father instilled in me the habit to look up a word immediately if I didn’t know the meaning and doing that has and continues to enrich my vocabulary.

I fall in love a million times a day. If I see a beautiful sunrise. An adorable child on the subway. A hot man with pretty eyes locking his pretty with me for just a sec. When the kind man distributing the metro paper tells me on the way to work to have a wonderful day. When I’m rockin a hot outfit. When I come home to Huxley and he’s so happy to see me as if I changed his whole day around and the world is right again. When a stranger smiles back at me. When it’s snowing. When a boy in his stroller is making crash noises with his toy cars on the subway. When my trains run seamlessly and on time. When I get a text and it’s a picture of my nephew bear. Each time I realize I actually live in New York City. When I think that for the first time ever in June I will get to visit the African continent. When I ate that bomb ass egg and cheese on croissant…

I’m a sucker in love.

Hopeless? I don’t think so. Romantic? Beyond comprehension.

I worry sometimes I won’t have all the time to do all i want to do in this life. But that kind of pressure pushes me to want and do more.

These are all sums of me. They do not define me. They are a part of what makes me me. What truly defines me are my values and my character and the way I show up in life everyday.

How I showed up yesterday wasn’t pretty.

I had a bit of a breakdown last night. My first New York City breakdown. I had to drop $500 at the vet because the pup has been throwing up almost every day for a couple weeks. I’ve been stressing hard about finances and stability lately and with a shit day at work and worrying about Hux and a million other things I walked away from the vet feeling utterly defeated. 

I dropped Huxley off at home and took my sorry ass to the wine store to get a bottle to drown my sorrows. Yes, I did. Go ahead and judge.

It felt like someone was ripping through my soul.

I came home but before I poured a heavy glass I fought tooth and nail with the couch cover that shrank from my dry cleaning it due to Huxley’s throw up. A couch cover that has somewhat become a point of contention for me and my roommate. (Another story for another time). That shit stressed me out even harder and I hurt my hand in the process and had to call into one of my lifelines.

That shit? That damn couch shit? That was ‘the straw that broke the camels back’.

I broke down. BROKE. DOWN.

My roommate came home to me on the misshapen covered couch looking sad and dejected in the midst of fat sobs holding a big bertha glass of wine with the lights low and Sinatra playing on pandora.

I felt thoroughly confused that I was in this place of such heavy uneasy anxious defeated magnitude. I have been doing everything right and I felt the universe was scoffing at me.

Bitch.

I really lost myself for a bit there. Shit became so overwhelming and escalated so quickly.

Hello New York City break down. Welcome to my life.

I was rest assured from the roomie that everyone needs this shit from time to time and that almost 8 months in I was really late to the game. That made me feel slightly better.

Then just as quick as it came, it went. I spent the rest of my night face timing with a guy that I am having all sorts of feelings for. A guy I don’t even really know but feel like I do. A guy I think I want in my life. Whoah nelly. Hold up.

Here I go falling in love for the millionth and 1 time..

So there you have it.

These are all parts of me. Bits and pieces. I feel with all of my heart when I feel things and immerse myself in moments but then moments pass and there are new moments.

But here I am showing up in life and living. If you need to define me, there you have it. Take what you need and leave the rest.

 

 

Branding

I’m realizing that what New York represents to people that move here is a dream. It’s as if the only way you can truly ‘make it’ is if you do it in New York. People are walking around hustling to reach their own individual goals. A city of 8 million and a city of even more dreams.

I came here to realize my dreams and in doing so I am starting to live them.

Holy fuck is that a good feeling.
Different people have asked me why I moved here and I haven’t really been able to articulate why. I give the standard “I come to visit the city at least once a year. I fell in love with it 8 years ago. I was ready for a change…” or if I’m feeling cheeky the “well I wasn’t ready to settle down and have kids and all my friends back home are doing just that so I figured why not move to a city where the focus isn’t that…” and sometimes “it’s just for 2-3 years and the only way I could move back to the Bay eventually was to move to an even more expensive city…” Or other variations of these same answers.
In ruminating on it more and having now been here for almost 7 months I’m understanding that I moved because I was longing for something and knew that whatever it was I would find it here in New York. There was something that kept pulling me towards this city. It’s why I came back every year to visit. It’s why different people have told me they could see me living here even before I could. It’s why on a whim based on a conversation that came up when I visited here last May I decided in my heart that I was going to move here and I was going to do it asap.
I could no longer ignore the longing inside me that kept pulling me towards NYC.
From that catapulted so much more fire in me I didn’t know was there.
It’s like Eve eating the forbidden apple and from that knowing how vast the world really was with all it’s good and evil. But with me; the fire is igniting all this shit within me that I didn’t realize were dreams of mine with the true possibility of all of it coming to fruition. Fruition. That’s funny. I didn’t intend for there to be that comparison within my simile and metaphor. Fruition can mean when something, like a plan or project, is realized or it can mean when fruit is produced.
Huh.
Even as I write or try to formulate my own thoughts I realize there could be something good there. Such is the process of writing, I guess.
It is now the first day of February and I’m sitting here in a coffee shop in my ‘hood. This morning Huxley and I took a long walk through Central Park. It looks different everyday although equally beautiful. It’s inspiring to see such beauty.
What I want for my day is to produce some ideas. I wanted to get the creative juices flowing. I wanted to write and I wanted to brainstorm on ways to market myself in my new venture. This is going to be new for me. The whole me being my own brand. I’ve dabbled with it by having this blog and by creating a fundraising campaign but me marketing myself in a way that will help change my career will be big for me.
This seems to be my current theme right now. Believing that I am worthy to be a brand and to have value and to be heard. I just ask that you all are patient in my journey and if you are here to stand with me in my campaigning for me remind me when I get down or frustrated if you feel so inclined to encourage. I’m sheding some old values I’ve had of myself that no longer serve me and it’s not easy. I’m realizing the perception I had of me maybe wasn’t all true. I’m also realizing that a lot of the ways I wanted to be perceived by others is in fact true and so now I’m working on the things that I am not and want to be. So if you are still here as a ride or die’r to support me in this journey a million times I thank you. Your support is felt this many miles away and it warms my heart daily.