Seasons

Spring has (sort of) sprung in New York. It's hard to believe I've technically been here for two seasons, five months, six monthly metro cards, two broken Amazon Kindles, 8 failed attempts to find just the right Indian food, two campaigns headed for launch, the passing of a grandparent and another, recently, of a dear friend... Happy and sad things have happened in my six months in exile. I've been straddling two worlds and two selves. The me who always made time to write in this blog no matter how crazy life got, because it relaxed and centered me...versus the me who feels so detached from her old self while navigating this new experience that she forgets to call her parents, sometimes for more than a week, and hardly ever has time to catch up with her best friends.

I have learned these past few days that just because I'm finding myself a bit changed doesn't mean I have to completely shed my skin and restart my life. There is no BC or AD about my life in NYC. I accept that everything is a juxtaposition, an oxymoron, a beautiful green park dwarfed by massive metallic skyscrapers, the gorgeous smell of a fresh flower market cut off by the less-than-desirable smell of that nearby dumpster, a bedroom that is ready to be finished save for that last box waiting to be unpacked, clothes to be folded and put away until next winter. Life is tricky, but we'll never stop learning. Never stop questioning. Never stop trying to figure out who we are. And maybe that's okay. For now.

Photo taken at Bryant Park on a lunch break