The Beautiful Struggle.
::From as far back as I can remember, I lived to write. On September 18, 2012 I moved from San Francisco to New York in hopes that I could write to LIVE. Please join me in my mis/adventures as I digest life in the Big Apple::
“Thank God for granting me this moment of clarity …”
It has now been roughly three months since I’ve moved to New York, although I feel like I’ve been back home more than I’ve actually been here. And while I obviously love the time I spend in SF, it has gotten in the way of me getting settled.
I knew I was crazy to leave as soon as I booked my one-way ticket back in July(ish). I had just found a job I actually enjoyed, got paid enough to let me enjoy a comfortable (although far from lavish) lifestyle, loved my friends and family more everyday, and San Francisco was steadily approaching my favorite time of the year: Indian Summer and September baseball. Then, my dumb ass thought it would be cute to just up and leave across the country with no money saved, no permanent place to stay, and no job awaiting just to pursue my stupid dreams.
Seriously, LOL. Because it’s all I can really do right now. Don’t get me wrong, things aren’t horrible. I could easily be living on the street. I still have my health, the people I love, and know I will never be out on the street. I know that I could easily get some barista or retail job. And I also know that there are plenty of people who have it a lot worse. But to be honest with you, I am very out of my comfort zone. This will be the first Christmas in the history of Christmas’s since I started working when I was 15, where I can’t buy anyone – not even my mom a present. And that makes me sad. I know that’s not the point of Christmas, but buying the perfect gift for someone, little or big, gives me joy.
Asides from my trips back home, which were all pre-planned and pre-paid for I have spent my money on nothing but transportation and food. Yet, the other night I couldn’t meet a friend somewhere because I didn’t want to spend money on the cab ride. And a few days ago I found myself scrounging up whatever I could find in the fridge and made use of the last two eggs, and left over rice form Jess’s night at Jeepney. I understand how this could all sound trivial, like #firstworldproblems even. Especially because eggs and rice are yummy, and were a staple for me growing up. But due to that specific circumstance, it was a humbling experience nevertheless.
I’m not going to sit here and write up excuses as to why I’m in this current predicament. I know what part I played in my current situation, and I know what I couldn’t help. I didn’t write this post to make you feel sorry for me, nor to discourage you from following your dreams. I wrote it as a reminder to take responsibility for your actions, even those you regret. So that when you do accomplish what you set out to do, you can take full responsibility for that as well. You know the mantra: “Stay hungry, stay foolish”. Now I can without a doubt say I’m both. No, really. I need more than eggs and rice.