Hard Candy
"On certain Sundays in November
When the weather bothers me
I empty drawers of other summers
Where my shadows used to be"
As I knew they would, my days in New York came to an end. And as I will always remember it, on a Friday in November, I got on a plane that coasted down the runway, opposite of the one that took me there three years before. Soaking onto my sleeves were tears of the shadows of the days I had spent there, and I cried into my hands for everyone and everything I was leaving. The differences between that Friday, and the Friday three years prior when I landed there could fill the ocean in my heart. Nothing was the same, and nothing would ever be the same again.
First and foremost, this time I was not alone. Next to me, despite hiding my tears from him, sat the person who was responsible for giving me the freedom that I was previously so terrified of giving up for someone, and who understood better than anyone could why I was crying. He looked at me sympathetically, knowing better than I ever will that I will always be OK. His friends are my friends. Mine are his. It is ours, a world we've fashioned together out of a similar desire to understand and be understood by the people we respect who surround us. We left a beautiful brownstone on a tree lined street in Brooklyn. I left my dream, a dream I'd had long before I even knew I was asleep. My life before New York had been only a nap. A series of ironic accidents and simple misunderstandings, lessons that only taught me that what I wanted more than anything was the freedom that can be found in the psychotic, restless beauty of the streets of New York. And I found it.
My first day in New York, waiting for Dan, for furniture, to find my office, to meet my coworkers, to be a grownup, to be happy, I wanted nothing less than everything I could suck out of that city. Every minute, every martini, every fight, frustration, tear, struggle, sunset, snowflake...everything that was possibly going to happen in the coming days, months and years was going to be mine. And it was mine. For three years, everything I wanted was mine. And I bled it absolutely to death.
I struggled consistently with the knowledge that it was too much. That I spent too much, drank too much, slept too much, worked too much. The smallest offset thrust me into a mania that I never bothered to control. I acted out constantly, because it was entirely acceptable there and the world, I remind you, was mine. You are forced in New York to answer to no one, no greater sense of social code, in fact the opposite is true. The expectation is that you are selfish, unmoving, abrupt and impatient. I, by nature, became all of those things.
That might've been the only problem. And despite it I was just fine. Allowing anyone, or anything to interfere with my plan wasn't a part of my plan. But as with all good plans, at some point, everything comes undone. With Bryan came a complete abandonment of all of my rules, all predetermined concepts of a world in which I was in control, all romantic fantasies about my city being MINE, and a complete casting aside of my unwillingness to love anything other than New York. And at that moment- not a moment before, which must have been more than a year ago now, my departure from my city was set into motion, and my personal history changed forever.
I've said goodbye to so many places and people in the last eight years. I have lived in 11 apartments in 6 cities. I have gone to two colleges and had four jobs. I have made incredible friends, tested my heart to its limits, loved in obscure, confusing ways, and learned what it means to sacrifice. So much of it took place in the place that I love more than what may be considered reasonable. I am gone from there now, but everything it has taught me, and the person that I have been able to become as a result of it, are floating on the surface of that ocean in my heart. As the leaves fall away and the days and nights grow darker against the lake here in Chicago, the wind in my face, at my back and all around me, I understand that sacrifice IS love. It hasn't been easy, but sweet nonetheless. And for all of those moments and everything I have gained because of them, a little sacrifice seems like the least that I can do.
When the weather bothers me
I empty drawers of other summers
Where my shadows used to be"
As I knew they would, my days in New York came to an end. And as I will always remember it, on a Friday in November, I got on a plane that coasted down the runway, opposite of the one that took me there three years before. Soaking onto my sleeves were tears of the shadows of the days I had spent there, and I cried into my hands for everyone and everything I was leaving. The differences between that Friday, and the Friday three years prior when I landed there could fill the ocean in my heart. Nothing was the same, and nothing would ever be the same again.
First and foremost, this time I was not alone. Next to me, despite hiding my tears from him, sat the person who was responsible for giving me the freedom that I was previously so terrified of giving up for someone, and who understood better than anyone could why I was crying. He looked at me sympathetically, knowing better than I ever will that I will always be OK. His friends are my friends. Mine are his. It is ours, a world we've fashioned together out of a similar desire to understand and be understood by the people we respect who surround us. We left a beautiful brownstone on a tree lined street in Brooklyn. I left my dream, a dream I'd had long before I even knew I was asleep. My life before New York had been only a nap. A series of ironic accidents and simple misunderstandings, lessons that only taught me that what I wanted more than anything was the freedom that can be found in the psychotic, restless beauty of the streets of New York. And I found it.
My first day in New York, waiting for Dan, for furniture, to find my office, to meet my coworkers, to be a grownup, to be happy, I wanted nothing less than everything I could suck out of that city. Every minute, every martini, every fight, frustration, tear, struggle, sunset, snowflake...everything that was possibly going to happen in the coming days, months and years was going to be mine. And it was mine. For three years, everything I wanted was mine. And I bled it absolutely to death.
I struggled consistently with the knowledge that it was too much. That I spent too much, drank too much, slept too much, worked too much. The smallest offset thrust me into a mania that I never bothered to control. I acted out constantly, because it was entirely acceptable there and the world, I remind you, was mine. You are forced in New York to answer to no one, no greater sense of social code, in fact the opposite is true. The expectation is that you are selfish, unmoving, abrupt and impatient. I, by nature, became all of those things.
That might've been the only problem. And despite it I was just fine. Allowing anyone, or anything to interfere with my plan wasn't a part of my plan. But as with all good plans, at some point, everything comes undone. With Bryan came a complete abandonment of all of my rules, all predetermined concepts of a world in which I was in control, all romantic fantasies about my city being MINE, and a complete casting aside of my unwillingness to love anything other than New York. And at that moment- not a moment before, which must have been more than a year ago now, my departure from my city was set into motion, and my personal history changed forever.
I've said goodbye to so many places and people in the last eight years. I have lived in 11 apartments in 6 cities. I have gone to two colleges and had four jobs. I have made incredible friends, tested my heart to its limits, loved in obscure, confusing ways, and learned what it means to sacrifice. So much of it took place in the place that I love more than what may be considered reasonable. I am gone from there now, but everything it has taught me, and the person that I have been able to become as a result of it, are floating on the surface of that ocean in my heart. As the leaves fall away and the days and nights grow darker against the lake here in Chicago, the wind in my face, at my back and all around me, I understand that sacrifice IS love. It hasn't been easy, but sweet nonetheless. And for all of those moments and everything I have gained because of them, a little sacrifice seems like the least that I can do.
posted by Jen @ 10:50 AM
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