“I can see you walking out one of these brownstones in the city with your scarf blowing in the wind.”
My dad said those words to me one morning while driving me to school. Fast forward 13 years, change the city from DC to NYC, and we wasn't too far off.
I walk out of my apartment door, take my obligatory deep breath, and then go out to face my day. I FaceTime my family, call my grandparents, and send texts to friends back home.
Is this what the rest of life is like?
Moving away from home is more of a steady burn of realizing what I've done. I thought one day I'd just break down crying, throw the towel in, and run back home. That day hasn't come.
Yet. The night is young and I'm writing this on the subway so things could change. The subway. I could write an entire novel about the things I see everyday.
I'm taking my time, breathing deep, and settling in. It's almost like adulthood suddenly slaps you in the face. In the form of bills.
Seriously whoever thought of rent you are a very bad person and I hate you.
Other than the occasional brush with poverty, I feel like I'm doing pretty damn okay. As okay as you can get when your express train starts making local stops, and you're stuck between stations at 1:22 am.
#itgetsbetter