It wasn't a big move geographically. The 4 hour pilgrimage from DC included one Chihuahua and an underestimated 20-something boxes, but no furniture. Now, as I scan my crowded apartment preparing to pack up and move away, I realize I remedied that furniture problem- perhaps too well.
Indeed, this week I have begun packing to leave my beautiful Chelsea studio. With its modern appliances, feminine charm, and NFL Sunday Ticket, my little home will be sorely missed. It wasn't a huge apartment, it didn't have the world's best view, but it was my spot in this gigantic city and I was grateful for it.
When I first arrived in New York, I bought everything as unique and fabulous as I could find for the apartment. Having lived with my boyfriend, Andrew, for the past 4 years, I relished the opportunity to do whatever I wanted with this space. There would be dolls, zebra carpeting, stuffed animals, a mirrored dinner table, a hot pink and blue chair, and absolutely no closet space for anything other than clothes. Above my bed would hang a modern art print in brilliant hues of a lady - a fashion model - looking as stunningly vulnerable as I felt inside. And just beyond my lavish jewelry display, I would showcase a spectacular pop-art rendition of Stella, my Chihuahua, gazing into the great beyond.
Yes - this was my girly palace. And in many ways, New York was my feminine Eden. I could wear what I wanted, be what I wanted, and do what I wanted. Which, when I arrived, was work in Fashion.
Ahhh.... working in fashion. Few other professions help an insecure girl feel more like she's made it. I would go to parties and overhear the finance studs, dripping in their suits at midnight, laughing about how every man in Finance seems to date a girl in Fashion. HOW 'in Fashion!'
But to my chagrin, I found out rather quickly that working in fashion retail was utterly unsatisfying. It would take at least 8 mind-meltingly boring years before I could get to a position of influence in my company. Most of all, I didn't care about the products. I began embracing my Berkeley, California roots and wondering what the hell fashion did for the planet. If I wasn't making art, or clothing those in need of clothes, what WAS I doing? Helping an enormous corporation get richer by exploiting man's need for novelty?
Eeesh. It was a trying time... Tedious work and dreams colliding with reality.
All along, through the trials of New York, I missed someone terribly.
Some of my best days in the past 19 months were spent with Andrew, in Alaska, and I began to realize that every reason we moved apart was no longer legitimate: my job was no longer my "dream job," and my life in New York was not nearly as glamorous or clamorous as I had imagined.
I realized that I didn't need to live in the greatest city with the most stuff a person could possibly hope to do. Because what is the point if the one person you want to share it with is living almost 4,000 miles away?
So I bit the bullet. Andrew signed on to another year of his clerkship in Alaska (which was extended due to his stellar performance) and I agreed to move there. To Alaska. Anchorage, specifically.
In a matter of days, on September 24th, my apartment will be completely packed and vacated. It's hard to believe this will occur since I am currently staring at a heartily crowded living space, but like it or not, the movers have been scheduled. And thus, in the next few days, I will be packing. And procrastinating. And packing some more.
Some may think it's unfortunate to leave Manhattan after such a short tenure, but I do not. I have made some fabulous friendships that will hopefully endure beyond this city and I am emphatically ready to be an Alaskan resident. Most of all, I am ready to reunite with Andrew in the Big Wide Open.
I invite you to join me on this year of adventure.
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