What happened here in apartment 4D early this afternoon was, for lack of a better word, bizarre.
I’d woken up early and plunked myself down in front of the computer to do some trip research. Jen and I are going to Morocco — it’s all but impossible to contain our excitement.
So one minute I’m fantasizing about head scarves and adventures (what happens in Morocco, stays in Morocco), and the next, I find myself bawling in the shower. It was a short burst of crying, followed by waves of anxiety that had me climbing the walls of my suddenly asphyxiating, small apartment.
I’d let myself think about going to work tomorrow. Big mistake.
Hoping for relief, I took myself down to the park on the river and stayed until I burned. I’ve never so badly in my life wanted to stop a complete stranger and say “Tell me that moving to New York wasn’t one really big, awful mistake.”
I retreated back to my apartment, crawled on the couch and willed myself to get ready and go to Brooklyn. I had plans. But I couldn’t make myself get up, conceal those nasty eye circles, put on clothes that matched. Instead, I ate comfort food. I took a nap. I talked to Elle on the phone. Someone had to bring me back to rational. Someone who understood and wouldn’t tell me to suck it up.
She didn’t tell me I hadn’t made one really big awful mistake moving to New York. But she did remind me why I came in the first place. That call, and a nap later and I’m much closer to feeling like myself again.
Many heartfelt sorries to my dearest, whose play I missed this afternoon. I hear you were wonderful.
from one gal who recently relocated and is now fiding herself a bit…lost (albeit through differing circumstances) to another: hang in there kiddo!
Fish, who knows what’s right, ever? I walked into D.C. cold with less than $100 in my pocket and no job. Somehow I survived to attain some sort of stability. But to this day I cannot really call the city home or decide whether it was absolutely the right thing. I don’t think I ever will decide.
And crying in the shower is such a girlie thing. You can be absolutelky sure that I never lost it in the hot spray. Yeah, right.
And I’m a shit speller late at night with Guinness on board.
I totally sympathize because my work life has been sh*t lately as well. While I enjoy the city in which I live, I have started questioning it … the what am I doing here? thing.
But it feels like home and I have no real desire to leave it.
The job, however, is another story. I’ve been applying all over the place – more resume paper, please!
My point is, not to be harsh, but if your job is your only regret about moving to the city, can’t you just seek new employment?
That is merely a suggestion, an attempt to create perspective and not actual advice!
You knew that, right?
if i had a quarter for every time i almost threw in the towel, i’d be stinkin’ rich. the littlest things seem to amount to a lot sometimes, and it’s just so tempting to say, this isn’t the place for me. but everytime, i give it another go, for reasons unbeknownst to me… i do love it here, but meltdowns do happen. it is hard to find a new job when you’re almost paralyzed with the dislike of the current one, and just feel generally overwhelmed. but it should be done, gradually, in small steps. hang in there.. maybe peruse the want-ads for jobs? no pressure on yourself – think of it as shopping for new shoes or something
I wish for you to have great Morrocan fun- for a long extended great long time. Traveling is a different kind of stress. A better kind of stress.
You belong in New York.
Hang in there..moving isnt easy…trust me ive done it 17 times in seven years, but it will get better and if doesnt thats ok too. Dont worry about it, because worrying doesnt resolve anything. F.I.D.O. F-ck It Drive On.
I took me about six years to get the hang of living in New York. Now I can’t imagine living anyplace else. Oh, I THINK about moving someplace else all the time – to someplace greener, quieter, less expensive. But then I come back to my senses with thoughts like, where could I move and still have vodka, pizza, and even McDonald’s (yes that’s right) delivered to my apartment at all hours of the night? Where could I move that has street buskers, and good ones too, playing on practically every subway station? Where could I move and live in borough that contained over 200 nationalities within its boundaries? Where could I move where, after the bar closes at 3am, we can all mosey on down to the after hours bar until 7? I remember these things and then realize that I’m ruined for living any place else.
Hi…
I just stumbled across your website today and this entry is right there with something I’ve been feeling lately – that displaced new frightening exciting exhilarating feeling of being somewhere new, of just having moved.
I moved last winter to NYC – a year behind schedule.
Two and a half years before that, I had moved to New Orleans. I was flat, I had no job, no job prospects, no apt, no friends in New Orleans- but my life was clearly over in San Francisco – laid off, ridiculous rents, and enduring divorce.
I thought NYC would be a piece of cake after that.
It wasn’t. It was harder. But I wouldn’t trade being here for anything.
As for Belle, most of the things you pointed out are true of SF, and way more than most are true of New Orleans – I had a cocktail, cup of coffee, and pack of cigarettes once delivered to the bench I was sitting on, overlooking the river.
I bring this up not to be a bitch, but to say that I’m not sure it’s the Things about NYC that you love – it’s the place itself, as if she’s a person, dearly adored, for better and for worse.
Ultimately, that’s what makes it worth it – the passion for the city herself. And it seems to me that you have that in spades.
Wow – I thought I was rather alone in the ‘bursting in tears on Sunday at the thought of going into work on Monday’ thing. I hope it gets better for you.