I failed. I didn’t try hard enough. I let everyone down. I let myself down.
I’m here by accident.
I didn’t mean to come back.
My job and apartment fell through while I was home, so since I had nothing to go back to I stayed.
I fucking suck.
If you ask me why I’m back home, or what happened to New York, I may sheepishly give you one of the above answers. Honestly, they’re all true. I’ve been struggling to come to terms with the fact that I am currently “living” in San Francisco again.
Coming to this realization is hard as is. But to have to explain the story to everyone is dreadful and humiliating. My best friend said that I don’t owe anyone an explanation. And my other best friend said I shouldn’t care what anybody else thinks. But both my best friends know that I do care. I care for several reasons, but especially because I don’t want anyone who was inspired by my initial move to feel discouraged in any way.
The truth is, the reason why you do things that you feel resulted in failure isn’t as important as you think. What’s important is how you react to it afterwards. I read somewhere that life is 10% what happens to you, and 90% of how you respond to it. I used to think that this was a bunch of bullshit to make one feel better about making mistakes. And maybe it is. But the way I look at it, I could sit here and bitch and make excuses until my face turns blue, or just accept the fact things didn’t work and DO WORK. Afterall, that’s what people in New York are known for right? Their resilience.
If all it takes is one mistake to sway you from your goal, you didn’t make a wrong decision – you chose the wrong dream.
The city I live in may have changed, but the dream remains the same.
p.s. Lady Liberty, I ain’t done with you yet.