CECE IN THE CITY: pt. 2 - HOMESICK

One thing I haven't had much experience with is the feeling of homesickness. Until now.

When I went away to college, I missed home, of course, but it was never a state of being for me. It would come and go, lingering for maybe an hour or so at night when the world was quiet and I felt far away. But then I would sleep it off or someone would burst into my room and pull me back into the present and I was fine. Sometimes I feel like I'm so physically consumed by homesickness my chest might BURST. It's only week four and I'm still a fresh NYC infant so I know it will fade. I will adapt! But for now, sometimes it's all I can do to just call my mom and desperately seek an ounce of normalcy.

It's not a complete surprise. I had a feeling this move would be different, but it's still a shock to the system. This move is different because I'm different and so is my family. After so much death and drama my mother, my grandfather, and I became far too codependent. We were living on top of each other, each feeling responsible for taking care of one another, for over a year. It was time to move out and step out of my comfort zone again...but I was extremely comfortable, so it hasn't been as smooth a transition as it was in the past. I'd insert a metaphor here comparing the situation to throwing myself into a pot of boiling water but I actually got second degree burns last week and it's too fresh. Also, it's been really cold in my apartment, so it just isn't accurate. 

The other night it got so cold that I piled on my layers and got under my covers and thought...why did I do this to myself? Why did I choose to leave a beautiful, warm home with infinite sweaters and blankets and pillows and a fireplace and a dog and a fridge full of food for this?!?!? I have one sweater, one blanket, and six packs of ramen -- no hoodie, no comforter, no dog, no fireplace, no food. What am I doing?!?!?! I imagined being home again and I cried myself to sleep. Occasionally I'll be on the phone with my grandpa and I'll just burst into tears. I've never been like this before! What's happening to me? Am I progressing backwards? I was a wild-eyed 18-year-old ready to take on the world! I moved to Europe alone for four months and never spent more than a passing moment missing home! At 24, aren't I supposed to be at peak adventure-ing age?

There must be many reasons why I'm struggling. One being that grief changes family forever. And depression, mental illness, physical illness, more death...It was a lot to handle and it really made me a softer person at my core. I've always been afraid of death. For my entire life, I've hated goodbyes and endings and death. I didn't even see death first hand until I was 22-years-old! Regardless, the concept has haunted me since childhood. Part of me hoped once I experienced it directly I wouldn't be so afraid anymore...But no. To this day, I hate goodbyes and endings and death and I've seen much more of it than I'd like. That's one of the many bags I have to take to therapy to unpack, but this blog is much cheaper than my co-pay.

Am I uniquely homesick because there's no end date for this move? It isn't simply a trip, theoretically it could be forever. I've never moved out forever before. I don't know if this move will work out, I don't know what will happen in the future, but I am making a major move as an adult that could result in me never living at home again. Which is exactly what is supposed to happen, right?! It's the culmination of my entire childhood getting me to the point where I can leave the nest and live on my own. But it's still sad and I am an extremely nostalgic person. Also, I really grew so, so fond of living with my grandfather. He's the sweetest man on the planet and I miss his breakfasts and his TV shows and his hugs. Did I mention the fridge is always full and overflowing? The fireplace is ready for a fire AT ALL TIMES?! I never once saw a wild rat in Brooklyn, OH but they are everywhere here and this is the place I've chosen to be. Who knows why?!

(I do. I know why. It's NYC.)

CECE IN THE CITY pt. 1

I always imagined moving to New York City as a glamorous and brave thing to do. It is, but it's also something lots of people do all the time! It's what the city's known for. People have been doing it for hundreds of years. You could do it too! So I did. What I didn't anticipate, however, is how much time I'm spending trying to figure out how to portray this life change with friends, family, and of course, on social media. How do I strike a balance between displaying all of the magic that I'm feeling without hiding the less aesthetically pleasing realities of the situation? Nothing in life is all positive without negative -- how do I showcase the good and the bad? That's what I'm working through right now on this blog I haven't touched in years, indulge me.

Real quick, let me set the current scene.

I'm on my college laptop that I haven't used since graduation, no exaggeration. It's running on half a hard drive (or something technical along those lines, according to the apple store gurus) but running better than I expected when I turned it on this morning. I cannot stress hard enough how strange it is that my fingers have not brushed against these keys in TWO. ENTIRE. YEARS. I feel reunited with a past relationship. A real love, deep and unconditional. This laptop love got me through four years of essays, poems, abandoned projects, readings, an exhaustive capstone, social media stalking of human loves. We've got so much history! And just like a novel, we've reconnected (to the free wifi) in this cozy french cafe in Brooklyn, NY of all places. The romance! We still know our way around each other perfectly. It feels right again.

It feels the same way with this blog. Blogger feels like a writing home to me and I've finally found my way back; ironically enough I had to move away from home in order to get back here. Opening these drafts are where my words pour out almost effortlessly. I've never been disciplined enough for much training of any kind, but there's something in my body that knows this is where writing happens and magically enough...I write. It's unlike any other format. Google docs, Word docs, the Notes app...nothing gets me going like Blogger. I'm so happy to be here, regardless of what comes of it.

That's also a good summation for my attitude towards moving to NYC. I've got to be honest: I have no idea what I'm doing. I would say this move was spontaneous but it also feels like the most anticipated thing I've ever done, after going to college. I've known this is something I wanted to do for almost as long as I can remember. I hated talking about it because I couldn't bear the thought of  being the type of person who talks and talks and talks about doing something without ever being able to do it. Of course now that I've done it, I can't shut up about it. "What are you going to do there?" People asked. "How is it?" People ask. Two questions I really don't know how to answer. How much detail do they really want? These are polite questions, like a passing, "How are you?" If we're not close, do they really care? If we are close, how much time do they have? How do I convey how I am in a few bullet points? I've always been an over-sharer. One of the many reasons I could never be cool and mysterious, even in one of the coolest and most mysterious places on Earth. 

What am I going to do? The same things I did at home: live life, go to work, eat, sleep, make friends, have fun.

How is it? Great! Sometimes not great? Sometimes it feels like I'm not in the center of the universe and it feels spectacularly normal and average. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of Manhattan and it takes my breath away. I feel at home surrounded by the skyscrapers and the crowds along the sidewalks. Sometimes I find I've wandered too far north on foot and the thought of an hour+ subway ride home makes me anxious. I'm slowly getting fewer anxiety attacks on the train, I was surprised by how much my body initially resisted this primary mode of transportation. Yes, things are expensive, but not everything and I was raised on getting creative with a small budget. 

Overall, it is a major adjustment.

In my wildest dreams I envisioned myself living in the city, feeling energized and motivated all day, every day. I would JUMP out of bed in the morning, naturally caffeinated by the fact that I'M IN NYC! I would be creating constantly. I would know my purpose and know my direction and I would follow through. Unfortunately, and obviously, that's not how it works. But we've all got to start somewhere. Maybe I stayed away from writing for so long because I felt uninspired. Maybe it was the grief and the depression that held me back. Maybe I just felt like I had to do something big in order to have something to say. Regardless, I'm writing again and it feels like I've been under water and finally reached the surface for air. Are there enough metaphors in this post? I'm trying to make up for lost time here. 

A good portion of the last three weeks here hasn't felt at all like how I imagined. Sitting in a cafe by a window, typing away until I pause to admire the dogs that walks past, however, is exactly how I've always wanted to spend my time here. I don't know where I'm going to get my next job or where I'm going to get my next apartment, but I do know that there will be more cafes and more windows and more writing. In some ways, that's enough for now. I'm gonna call that a win and run with it.