Wherein Adam says his good-bye

My time in New York is coming to a close. Ten years ago, if you had told me this day was coming, I wouldn't have believed you. I wouldn't have imagined a day that I would willingly leave, and now I'm ready to go and have been for the last year or two. And despite the love affair turned bitter-marriage-kept-together-for-the-kids, I'm having a hard time leaving New York now that the time to go is right before me. 

I didn't have a Toto
to bring with me though.

When I came here, this place was my haven and refuge. At seventeen years old and out of high school for a little under a month, I came here to begin my adult life. To begin forgetting and healing from the childhood I still prefer to forget rather than remember. This place helped me learn that all the things that made me feel so disjointed with where I grew up were something that other people would find fascinating and worth encouraging. It let me forget parts of who I was, so I could start to become who I wanted to be. It protected me. It pushed me by always threatening to break me but never really made good on those threats. It made me tough. And by making me tough, it taught me how to be compassionate. It showed me all sorts of wonderful people and things. It made me feel alive. It helped me to stop being afraid. Of everything. I learned how to think on my feet and turn my mistakes into their own solutions. It endowed me with a sense of self that will be my beacon and guide for the rest of my life, despite my self being far from a static entity.

And as I go and remember all the things I loved about New York while seeing all the reasons it's no longer working out, I can't help but feel jealousy when I see other people here in New York, continuing on with their lives, some of them living the life I wish I had found. Or once had but grew tired of. I'm still not sure which. I became disillusioned at some point, and I'm not sure if I'm going to bounce back from that lack of faith without time away. Wishing and jealousy won't change that. Jealousy, by the way, is a new thing for me. That doesn't happen often, which makes it harder to deal with, and of course, makes me feel crazy. But as we established last week, I'm not really feeling myself these days. Whatever that means.

^^New personal mantra^^

Unlike the last time I went abroad, going to Colombia isn't just a break in my life to do something new and then return home. When I come back to the United States, there's not much to come back to. There are my family and friends, and I don't mean to downplay their importance to me, but I feel a bit homeless again. Indiana is only my hometown in name, and New York has always felt like home but now it's a home that no longer fits with me. I guess maybe that's why nomadism has started to appeal to me: to find a new home, wherever in the entire world that may be.

Something that I'm learning is that no matter what kind of time you have and no matter how you planned it, there are always loose ends when you leave a place. There's people you wish you had gotten to know better, there's places you wish you had visited, and things you wish you had done. Good-byes you wish you had said or somehow sadistically wanted to feel grander, bigger, more emotional, and not as if you were going to see each other the next day because it's hard to imagine you're not going to. One last run in Central Park, one last visit to the Bourgeois Pig, one more trip to Jones Beach, one more day to... But time ticks by, things end, they change, and they have been changing. Kate's Joint closes, you resign from running a theatre company you built out of nothing with one of your best friends, the monthly metro card raises another twenty dollars. And you have to say good-bye and you have to let go because you risk ruining everything you once had.

So... Good bye, New York. It's been real. It's been beautiful. I hope we can meet again someday when we're both ready.

To New York and Back Again

So I normally don't full on give away the next entry, but I'm going to. Next post is a bit like my goodbye to New York. Or at least my coming to terms with leaving. I've had a lot of awesome memories made with amazing people. I selected songs for this minimix that represent, to a degree, the arc of my relationship with the city. From coming free full of hope and hungry from freedom to a more mature outlook to a bit of disillusionment and questioning and then the beginning of a new realization of what home means. 

I hope you enjoy it.

And this is a bonus video. It's the version of "I Guess The Lord Must Be In New York City" that I wanted to include but couldn't find the full version on line. The monologue in the beginning captures the kind of magic I first felt when I moved here.

Have I lost it?

Life can change in such sudden ways that it can be difficult to bear, happening so quickly and so drastically that it challenges our sense of control and reminds us just how little we have. 

In the last month, and particularly the last three weeks, my life has shifted around so much I can barely keep up:

First, I got the news that I was selected as an alternate for the Fulbright, which I decided to take for the sake of my sanity as meaning I didn't get it, which, a week later, was followed by being told that I had been chosen after all. Then my boyfriend and I broke up, and related to that incident, I lost my apartment. Not too much later, I decided to leave New York a month earlier than I had planned, and on the same day, my mom called to tell me that they had induced my step father into a coma. Next, I got my apartment back and my step father woke up. But he ended back in the intensive care unit a few days later. Today I learned that he will be going home under hospice care.

To be very plain: I feel like I'm going crazy right now. I feel absolutely crazy. Not in any big way. In little ways. In the words I hear myself use and what I talk about these days. In the little decisions I make: to eat that Snickers bar when I normally would say no, to have that extra drink after my friends say they're going homes, to not be able to sleep when it's time to turn out the light and then not be able to get up the next day to do some errand I thought was important. Afterward, I try to beat myself up over these things. I try to harangue and lecture myself: “Why can’t you get it together?? You’re doing well enough. You’re almost going along as if nothing’s wrong. Just keep going, keep living, and you’ll be fine. You’re so close to fine, why can’t you just be it?” And I stop almost before I’ve really begun, realizing it’s not worth the energy, realizing I don’t even really have the energy.

I know this sounds a bit morose, and I can tell you, it's definitely not enjoyable. But I'm getting through it. Things are going to get better. And I don’t mean this in the way people often tell themselves and each other. I know this for a fact. I can actually see the light at the end of the tunnel. Soon, I will be in a new land with so many people to meet and things to see and do. I'll be doing things I love for a livable wage for the first time ever in my life! For the first time ever, I won’t be working some sort of day job in order to do what I really care about. No proofreading financial documents, no waiting tables, no working retail.

Did you think I could resist?

Because, you see, you can’t decide to make a big change in your life without it having consequences. These decisions we make—to change a career, to move to another country, to leave behind everyone you know, to trade roots for wings—come in like wrecking balls. They smash everything to bits because things have to fall apart so they can be reshaped into something new. It entails pain. And confusion. And fear. These are the things that come when you let go of everything that came before. Being stripped of what you used to tell yourself who you are and having to see what is actually there. Who is Adam if he no longer lives in New York? Who is Adam if he actually enjoys his job? Who is Adam if he has to start all over again in a new place? And then do that over and over for the next couple years?  These questions have answers not in words but in movement, in action. It's time to be brave.

Mental Minimix Up

Guess what the next entry is about.....

Swimming in Stars and Water

I want to share with you a revelation I had this week, which was brought on by the mothergiver of all revalations: Nature. This week I went to the Brooklyn Botantic Gardens with Bob Choiniere and Nick Pangakos and then to Fire Island with those same cats plus Nick Lazor. The Botantic Garden was absolutely wonderful. Flowers, beautiful lawns of green, and impressive habitat-controlled rooms.

For those of you who have never seen it,
this is what happens when Bob gets around flowers.
Yeah....

Fire Island was equally fun. I woke up at the time I was supposed to join everyone on the LIRR because of the horrible decisions we make when we're tired, but I arrived only an hour behind. The sun was out but not too out, the sand was warm but not scalding, and there were plenty of good-looking guys out without feeling like they were on the same beach towel as you. When I arrived, I was told by all three of my friends that the water was frigidly cold, and if you know me, you know I can't go to a body of water without actually spending some time in it. There was only one viable solution: drink as much vodka as possible to numb the cold before I went in the water. Several drinks later, I ran down the beach to embrace Poseidon for the first time this summer. I had prepared for ice; what I got was a pleasant chill. After I got out from the water, I admonished Nick Panagakos for losing the tolerance for cold water we had built up back when we were training for Tough Mudder, and soon we all went to eat and drink and dance before catching the last ferry home.

Those were the days, Nick...

But while I was out swimming by myself in the water everyone else preferred to be out of, all of these little tastes of nature caused me to remember my most recent megadose: the stars from the night of Christen Madrazo and Jason Williamson's wedding upstate in the Catskills two weeks ealier and what wonderment I was filled with at seeing so many stars in the sky. It was among the most I'd ever seen at once, and it was enough to make you wonder which end was up and down, which was the sky and which was the ground. Add a little wine and you've got a borderline mystical experience, my friends, and I began to realize how much of the second half of my life I've spent living in and traveling to urban areas, and how little I've spent going to small towns. When I take a vacation or want an adventure, it's always DC, Chicago, Indianapolis, Barcelona, Madrid, Paris, Amsterdam--you know, cities whose names you recognize pretty easily--and I realized that in my insatiable quest for more adventures in unfamiliar places (the emerging theme of this third stage of my life) doesn't always mean going to these giant places. They're exciting, for sure, and there's adventure to be had there, of that there's no doubt, but there are plenty of adventures to be had in Centralia, Taos, Ash Fork, and other places you and I have never heard of. The adventure doesn't come from social caché of the locale nor from the attractions it offers. In fact, I think attractions are often in the way of people having adventures when they travel. Adventure comes from talking to people you never would otherwise and seeing things you wouldn't see if you stayed in your comfort zone. It's the stimulating conversation you have about Galicians sharing ancestry with Celtic people or the assault of the millions of stars on your eyes that leaves you standing literally starstruck while a bonfire blazes a few yards away. It's can even be watching a flower bloom if it strikes you the right way at the right time. Or it can be waiting for your friend outside Burger King when a group of strikers forces it to close on the spot and lock everyone inside. (Think I'm kidding?.... Click here and see a video.) Adventure is everywhere, and I'm only now realizing that ignoring these smaller towns is doing myself a great disservice on this quest I've set myself on.

That being said, I've got to figure out a way to harangue Samantha Wier and Danny Monteith, my sister and her boyfriend, in to taking me to somewhere in Indiana where I can see all those stars again..... They're calling to me just as strongly as the ocean these days. Poseidon, meet Asteria...