Crème de menthe

I need to talk to you guys - it's really important.

Over the past several years I had always told myself that one day I'd like to live in a geographic location other than New York for some period of time.  I always told myself I'd go live in London for a year or two, even living on the west coast was an idea that I had always toyed with.

Now, as I approach the end of the summer, I've been weighing out my career options more and more.  My primary goal thus far has been to maximize my opportunities, which would entail staying in NY.  In my selected career, remaining a New Yorker would essentially offer the highest probability of becoming successful.  New York is the business capital of the world, after all.

Then, two days ago the thought of moving to California crossed my mind again.  This time, however, it wasn't just an idea that I was contemplating - this time it hit me like an epiphany.  For the past two days, all I've been able to think about is jumping ship to the other coast.  I'm obsessed, infatuated with the prospect of throwing myself into a completely new environment.  I was literally on Craigslist ten minutes ago looking at apartments in the LA area before I decided that I needed to express my thoughts on here.

Even though it would make the most logical sense to stay in New York to continue my career, one of the biggest things to take into consideration is that I thrive on change.  When I think about living in CA, everything makes sense; when I try to picture myself there, everything seems to fit perfectly.

With this flash of insight, however, also came a pang of sorrow.  I'm sad because I know this isn't an issue of if I leave NY, it's a matter of when.  As soon as everything became ever clear to me, I also realized that NY has been my home for my entire life.  I have great friends, family, and memories here.  It's hard to imagine living so far away from the place I grew up, and it's a thought that has kept me solemn over the past two days.  Even in two days time, this is becoming something that I am starting to struggle with, because deep down I know how I want the next few years of my life to play out, and that plan doesn't include New York...

The future is and always will be uncertain.  I can't plan and account for everything that comes my way, and for all I know, I may never make it to Cali.  One thing I can be sure of, however, is that I'm going to make the next few years in NY count, big time.

13 Duane St

I just had a random recollection of a very specific memory from my childhood, and I feel compelled to talk about it.  I rather enjoy it when this sort of thing happens, because it always feels out of the ordinary yet strangely important.  I take a certain pleasure out of looking back and seeing how far I've come, both physically and mentally, whenever I have one of these recollections.  However, I must admit, even though this memory is one that I have from my childhood, the person who takes center stage in it isn't myself, but my mom.

The memory takes place during one of the darkest times of my life.  My whole family was in turmoil - my parents were recently divorced, and both began scrambling for new homes to stay in.  Neither one of my parents were very financially stable during this time period, and so they had to resort to moving a lot.  I don't remember exactly how many times my brother and I had to move as our parents searched for new places to live, but I would estimate that during this time period we changed neighborhoods at least 5 times.

Now when I say these were dark times, I really mean it.  It wasn't because we were moving so frequently; it was because we were moving into some really scummy, unsafe neighborhoods.  I was pretty naive back then, and I couldn't really understand why my mom didn't want my brother and I to play outside in these neighborhoods.  Whenever either my brother or myself wanted to have a sleepover with friends, they never came to our house, we always had to go stay at their houses instead.  Whenever I try and remember back to these times, there is no sunshine, no smiles - only a lurid gloom, portrayed through unforgiving clouds and prodigious amounts of rain.

The memory itself takes place in the first of these dreary locations, 13 Duane St.  I remember being very solemn during the whole moving process.  I can't speak for my brother, but I think he probably knew considering how often our parents would fight, that we weren't going to be under happy circumstances for quite some time.  Everything back then just seemed so uncertain to me.  We had moved from a gorgeous home to a miserable excuse for an apartment, and I couldn't see how things could ever be as good as they once were.

During this whole process, my mom tried not to show how dire of a situation we were in.  She wanted my brother and I to be oblivious, because as long as there was hope, there could be happiness.  That first night at 13 Duane St, she rented Men In Black (a movie that we wanted to see, but due to the divorce that summer, were never able to) and bought us some IBC root beer to enjoy as we nestled into a corner of our dark bedroom, no lights or furniture, just the three of us with a blanket.  Strangely enough, we were happy that night.  I remember thinking that maybe things weren't going to be so bad.  That maybe there was in fact, hope for our family.

I'll never know how close we were to losing it all.  All I know is that I can't thank my mom enough for protecting my brother and me.  We were better off as the oblivious kids that we were.  If we had known exactly how bad things were, we may have given up, and if that happened, we probably wouldn't be the same people we are today.