Monthly Archives: May 2012

Should I Be Crying?

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People keep asking me if I’ve been crying a lot. Even if you barely know me, you know this is a totally legitimate question. Everything makes me cry. The places I cry regularly include: on the subway during a touching portion of a book, on the treadmill when sappy lyrics stream through my earbuds, and in elevators everywhere while eavesdropping on the tragic, romantic, beautiful lives of strangers.  But the truth is, and frankly I feel a little guilty about this – I really haven’t cried about our goodbyes yet.

It’s not that I’m not sad to say farewell to my friends or my city, and it’s not that I’m not feeling sentimental, it’s just that I’m having too much fun!

I’ve found that one of the realities of growing up (which the world failed to mention to me) is that the older you get, the busier you get, and your friends get busier too. It seems that with each passing year it’s harder and harder to make plans with friends. Once upon a time on a Saturday evening, I’d call a friend to see if she had plans for the night and she’d respond by slathering on some lip gloss and telling me where to meet her in five. These days, I call a friend on a Saturday evening to see if she has plans in a month an half, and she takes out her calenders (plural) and tells me she could do a Tuesday in three months, if that works for me. Which it doesn’t, because I already have plans that day.

But ever since we announced our imminent departure, our friends’ schedules have miraculously cleared and we’ve had plans (plural) every night.

Making friends as an adult is another thing that no one tells you about as a kid. It’s much harder to form meaningful, deep friendships when you’re no longer in a social setting that incubates relationships.

I cherish my childhood friends, I can’t imagine my life without them, but I am indescribably proud of the friendships I’ve built in NYC as an adult.

So aside from pure fun, our recent onslaught of socializing has served to remind me of the truly special bonds I share with my friends here, and the warmth from these final shared moments has brought unexpected, unadulterated joy to our hard goodbyes.

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Reclaiming My Mellow

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Within days of my arrival in New York City, six short years ago, I was in love. Crazy, oblivious, passionate love. The muggy late summer air, putrid with scents of human urine and rotting garbage, seemed to me an invigorating breeze. The insane requests of my absolutely psychotic, very probably Mafioso bosses were simply hilarious anecdotes, and fabulous life experiences. The hour and a half I spent on the crowded, local A train at 6 in the morning before classes, and again at midnight after my shift at the restaurant, in order to get to and from my apartment in Inwood (the last stop in Manhattan) was a wonderful opportunity to work on my core strength while holding coffee, a book and applying mascara. The $10 it cost me to buy a coffee with a name I couldn’t pronounce, well that was simply the cost of being a REAL New Yorker. Yes, I was unquestionably, undeniably, head-over-heels in love with my new home.

And she loved me too. My life in NYC was truly magical. In my first job here I nearly spilled soup on Macy Gray while serving her lunch, I took delivery orders from Whoopie Goldberg and I emerged from our bathroom on many occasions purposely disheveled so that Nick Arrojo, a regular, would perhaps whisk me away and hand me over to his good friends Stacy & Clinton. I did makeup for print publications and Fashion Week runways. I made incredible friends from around the world who opened my eyes to new kinds of music, art and food. I finally received my college degree and earned an array of dream-come-true jobs with cosmetic and media industry giants. And of course, one week into my city residence, I had my first date with Tal, and well… the rest is history.

I found my stride in New York, and I’m very proud of who I’ve become.  But there are also parts of me which have faded in the hustle and bustle of city life. When I arrived here in well-worn Birkenstocks with purple hair and dreams of becoming a theatrical makeup artist, I considered myself a free-spirit, judgement free with eyes and arms open to the world. These days, slow walking tourists or a bad manicure set off a string of internal profanities Eminem would find offensive.

I know that in India, and in many of the other places we will likely travel and live, I will be reminded of how lucky I am to be me. I know that I will see things that will break my heart, and I know I will have the opportunity to do things that will mend it. NYC changed me in ways for which I will be forever grateful, but I think my next adventure is a perfect opportunity to refocus on finding my place in the world, and not simply which shoes I should wear when I arrive.

How am I feeling? Now, or 30 seconds ago?

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The last few weeks have been a flurry of emotions. Telling our friends and family about our adventure was equal parts exciting and upsetting. I’ve discovered that when I’m REALLY nervous, my face twitches. No, not my eye. My whole face.

Moving to the other side of the world this abruptly means that we’re missing several very special weddings, the birth and first months of the child of close friends, and I’m sure countless other celebrations that have yet to be announced.  As a results, feelings, has been a popular topic of conversation  lately.

When we called our friends and family to tell them we had exciting news to share, the reactions were mixed. But for the most part, their feelings fell into one of three categories:

Friends who live in NYC: “WHAT? No. WHAT? I’m sooo excited for you!! No I’m not. WHY ARE YOU LEAVING ME? Okokokok. I really am excited for you. Kind of.  So, you’re sure you’re not pregnant?”

Friends who live outsite of NYC and who we only see a few times a year anyway: “You’re joking right? Wait, you’re serious? This isn’t like the time Tal told us he was going to Africa and just lived in LA for 5 months? Ok, Really? I’M TOTALLY COMING TO VISIT YOU! So, you’re sure you’re not pregnant?”

Family: The sound of a jaw hitting a table, followed by silence. “So you’re sure you’re not pregnant?”

The other side of this, is that once the news sinks in, people inevitably ask how we’re feeling about the move.

I don’t really think I’ve been doing this topic justice verbally, so I’ve decided that the obvious, and clearest way for me to explain the current state of our emotions, is with pictures of random children (which I copied illegally from Google) as visual aids. Obviously.
  
Here’s how Tal feels… All. The. Time.:

                                                        
I’m feeling a little more… how shall I put this? …mixed.
Here’s how I feel at the beginning of each day when I think about our upcoming move:
                                                    
But mid-day after I’ve checked and rechecked our to-do list, googled “can you buy peanut butter in India” for the millionth time and stress eaten my way through a roll of Girl Scout cookies, I start to feel like this:
                                                     
And by 3am, when I’m lying awake staring at our bedroom ceiling and wondering if my stomach was adequately empty when I took my oral Typhoid immunization pill, if I remembered to cancel all my magazine subscriptions, if I’ll be able to over come my terrible motion sickness in India’s notorious traffic, if I have any overdue library books laying around, and OHDEARGOD WHAT IF THEY DON’T HAVE COFFEE IN THE OFFICES IN INDIA?!? I look exactly like this:
                                               
Does that help?