who says you can't go home?

I started this blog over a month ago after a recent trip to Texas. Maybe I didn't actually start typing it back then, but I was definitely writing it in my head. I think maybe it's better that I didn't post anything at the time. I've had time to think and reflect. And after a month, I still feel compelled to write. To be honest. Maybe, if nothing else, be honest to myself. To accept the consequences of my decision.
When I moved to New York City, I knew I would have to make sacrifices. Some were superficial, such as the selling of my car. Others were emotional, such as moving out of the first apartment I lived in alone- the place I called my home- filled with many memories. But what I had not considered was the life I would have to sacrifice.
My life was filled with many wonderful friends. On any given night I would find myself in the company of one or many of these people. It was nice. It was comfortable. From weekly dollar beer nights to random trips, these friends made life great.
So why would I leave this life filled with so many great friends? I don't know. It was probably restlessness. All I really know is that in spite of all the happiness these people provided in my life, I was not happy. So I moved to New York City. And instantly, I knew this is my life.
But is that really life? A city? Shouldn't life be about the people in our lives who make our lives better? Maybe that's one great thing about family. They aren't circumstantial. Family will always be a part of your life regardless of where you live. They have to be.
But friends... friends are a different story. Over the years, I have learned that friends, unfortunately, often are circumstantial. I no longer know the people I called friends in elementary school or middle school or high school. Even my college roommates and I have lost contact, thus ending our friendships.
This is not to say I do not have friendships remaining from those various milestones of my life. I am still best friends with the childhood neighbors I met first when I was two, then another when I was eight. Ten-plus years later, I am still great friends with the guy I met on the school bus my freshman year of high school. And I continue to share a special friendship with the girl who lived next door to me in the dorm freshman year. Then there are the handful of post-college friends who have also made it on the "friends for life" list.
So I why am I so surprised by my last trip home? Since moving to New York, anytime I went home I felt like I was welcomed home with open arms. Of course, this includes my family. But if you've met my family, you would know we are all about hugs and unconditional love (even for the liberal who moved to a Yankee state), and it would not surprise you that I can go home as if I never left. What was surprising was how easily I could slide back into my group of friends, talking with them as if I still saw them every few days. In a way, being with my friends was part of my whole idea of being "home." Because for two years, they were the family I had created for myself. (If you've ever watched Sex and the City, this will make sense.) I always loved planning my trips to make sure it would include quality time with these people. Trust me- karaoke counts as "quality time."
I first began to notice the change at Christmas/New Year's. I found myself suddenly aware that life had gone on without me. People moved on with their lives- starting new jobs, new relationships, new life chapters, new attitudes. They told jokes I did not understand. They told stories that made no sense, including names of people I did not know. People who had become part of the group, perhaps taking the space I had left. I also noticed that other people were now left out of the group.
However, it was not until this last trip home that I knew. I'm no longer part of that life. I had to sacrifice that life when I moved to New York. My email announcing my plan to return to Texas to visit only seemed to underscore the fact that I had left in the first place. What did I expect? Did I expect them to welcome me home with open arms? Probably. After all, that is what my family does. Then we spend time together, and it feels so comfortable I feel like I never really left at all.
When I saw my friends this last time, I did not feel welcomed back. Instead I felt like an outsider. I felt like I was crashing a party in which I was not a guest. Perhaps because, to some extent, this was the case. I had not been invited to the party. I had merely been informed it was happening. It was the reason I was told no one responded to me with the open arms I had hoped to find. So I went to this party, and I watched and observed. It was almost as if I was a foreigner among them. The special language they shared. The inside jokes. I was not and could not be a part of it. I made my choice. I made my sacrifice.
I still love those friends. I love what they meant to me in a time when I was unhappy with every other part of my life. I love the support they offered to me when I made my decision to move to New York. Maybe there will be a few who will continue to be one of those unique and truly special people who transcend circumstances and offer a friendship that has no limits or conditions. But I don't expect to be a part of the group again. I can't be.
I have no regrets, and I place no blame. It's just that sometimes life goes on. And I wasn't there to be a part of that life...

a productive Sunday

When I went to bed last night, I knew there was only one thing I wanted to accomplish in the morning- clean my apartment. Not only did I want to put away my collection of shoes that were gathered on the floor (I'm sure that wouldn't surprise anyone who has ever lived with me), but I wanted to actually clean. I'm talking scrubbing the tub, dusting my furniture, clearing away all the clutter.
When I woke up this morning, I made a large pot of coffee, put on some music, and set to achieving my goal. In between my coffee breaks, I scrubbed down my tiny bathroom. Then I cleaned every surface in my tiny kitchen. Once I had removed the clutter (and shoes) in my living room/bedroom, I wiped away the dust. Then after a very long break, I swept the floors.
I feel accomplished.

Here is my clean, tiny apartment:

This is my studio: bedroom/living room. The "bedroom" part is the black bed on the left. The "living room" part is the new IKEA love seat and coffee table on the right.

The fireplace was a selling point... even if it doesn't work. It makes the place look and feel cozy.

This is the entire kitchen: sink on the left, fridge and stove on the right. Everything else crowded on the shelf.

These closets are the reason I took the place. The door on the left is my "storage" closet and at the end of the hall is my "walk-in" closet.

my lazy Saturday

I love lazy Saturdays. After a long work week, it's nice to spend the day doing nothing other than relaxing. Here's a typical lazy Saturday:

• Sleep late.
• Today I got up around noon.
  
• Reluctantly get out of bed.
• It's pretty tempting to lay there all day.
  
• Make 1/2 pot of coffee to drink for the next 2 hours.
• I enjoyed Amaretto coffee today since I had time to drink multiple cups.
  
• Eat some breakfast... or lunch. Whatever.
• I usually eat a little throughout the day.
  
• Watch some cheesy TV/movies.
  
• After Girls Next Door, I admit I found myself watching High School Musical.
  
• Attempt to do something productive.
• I went to CVS to buy some cards. I also washed my dishes.
• Eat some sort of lunch or dinner. Again, whatever.
• I made a veggie omlette since I didn't have that for my first meal.
• Continue watching cheesy TV while playing around on the computer.
• Flipping channels is a pretty good way to spend my day.
• Relax throughout the evening with a glass of wine and a bowl of popcorn.
• I've got the glass of wine, but I still have to make the popcorn.

Life in New York can often been busy and hectic. So relaxing at home creates a nice balance. But there is the problem of feeling like I've wasted my day. After all, today was a beautiful, sunny 76 degree day. And I spent it sitting on my new loveseat indoors doing nothing. I could have gone to one of the many parks in this city. Or walked around exploring new areas of the city I haven't seen. Oh well. It was a good day.

I'll try to do something more interesting/productive tomorrow...

"The Disposable City": Dating in New York

I'm currently not dating anyone. I'm okay with this. It has been suggested by two close friends that perhaps I should take a break from dating for a while. When I mentioned this to another friend, she said that this is terrible advice. In fact, she has suggested I should be dating more guys. As she describes dating life in New York City, it is a "disposable city." This has been her reasoning for why I shouldn't let it bother me when guys stop calling. Likewise it is her explanation for why I should date lots of guys, not worrying about where the relationship might be going because if it doesn't work I can always find someone new.
She has a point. Since the end of December, I've consecutively dated 4 guys in a row with no breaks between each. All ended the same way- the guy just stopped calling me. For the most part, I agreed it should end. But it really annoyed me that they would just decide not to call me again. I finally figured out why this bothers me- other than the fact that I really like some sort of closure. It doesn't bother me that they don't want to keep dating me (that's their loss, not mine). What bothers me is that I would never end a dating relationship this way- and I haven't. If I realize that for whatever reason that I don't want to continue dating guy, I don't just stop answering his calls. I tell him. It's respectful. I'm just saying...
So I'm not seeing the hockey coach anymore. He stopped calling. I saw him after that. He said he'd see me later, but I knew at that moment that I'd never hear from him again. Two weeks later, I haven't.
I haven't started dating a new guy yet. I was recently told that maybe I'm having a dry spell. It's only been 2 weeks since the hockey coach. I'd hardly call this a dry spell. This is just dating in New York. I have yet to find the next guy.
All I know is that it sure would be nice if the next one stuck around for awhile. I don't want to find myself on a ferry, looking at Manhattan and asking "How can an island that small hold all [my] ex-boyfriends?"