A few years ago I spent my days dreaming about New York City. I had interviews lined up, apartments I was eyeing, and goals I was reaching for. I was so determined that I’d edit my resume daily and stalk LinkedIn for longer than I slept.
I was a college senior imagining strutting the streets of NYC with high heels, a perfectly tailored peacoat, and an ass-kicking advertising job.
I imagined late nights and early mornings that would make me appreciate the sun more. I thought about being just one of the millions chasing their dreams and hailing taxis. I smiled at the idea of summer in Central Park and of winter in the snow.
It would be New York that would mold me into the person I would become. It would be New York that would help me rise the corporate ladder. It would be New York that took my heart forever in exchange for a millenial’s dream.
I desired the glamour of the city lights as much as I wanted the poverty of closet-sized apartments. I wanted the high rises as much as I wanted to learn from the bottom. I wanted the Sex and the City brunches and the Mad Men pitches.
I craved to wake with the city and the horns that blared of deadlines and trading. I longed to fall asleep amongst the unmet passions that grew with fervor overnight. I needed to get over my fear of public transportation and yearned for a real bagel.
I wanted to be a city girl doing what she could to have people say “wow” when I handed them my business card. I wanted to make a name for myself across the endless pavements that guided the dreamers. I needed to be somebody; somebody more than who I already was.
I wanted to kick more ass than next season’s Christian Louboutins.
I was okay with being pale, with being poor, with being cold, and with always running against time; because to me, I looked forward to being bold, to being afraid, to being fierce, and to always dressing the part no matter how uncomfortable it was.
You see, I romanticized the city. So typically, romance is what would deter me. I chose an unexpected love in a city I had not hidden any dreams in. I chose love because I figured a person could love me better than a city could.
I swore 2015 would no longer read of the past, but this is exactly why I’m writing this now. I chose love, I lost it, and I lost NYC with it. But I’ll admit that what I gained in return I could not have dreamed of a few years ago.
Still I always wonder and the thought forever lingers – what if?
What if I had chosen me? What if I had chosen the lights, the dreams, and the 25-cent ramen I may be forced to eat? Where would I be now? Who would I be now?
Now I embark to the city for the first time since I followed my heart instead of my head. I realize that this trip is more than just getting away for Valentine’s Day. This is the trip to see…
Did I make a mistake?
If I was wrong about him being right for me, could I have been wrong about NYC too? I guess I’ll let the city speak for itself… See you post frostbite.