A Bad Rash

Starting this post feels a lot like bumping into someone you really, really like but all the guilt welling up inside of you for being a bad friend, deletes any knowledge you once had of using words. So I'll keep it simple and to the point, I'm back. It's been over a year since I last blogged. That's a long time. A lot of great things can happen in a year. A lot of terrible things can happen in a year. And they did for me. And I'm sure they did for you. While I was riding the subway home from work today, I was reading my book and the phrase "Time is not linear" stopped me in my reading tracks and I sat there and I thought "What the hell does that even mean? That sounds like something someone wrote to sound smarter and deeper than me." So then I thought about it...I'm still thinking about it. Today is my six year anniversary as a New Yorker. A lot can happen in six years. That's a long time. I remember the morning of September 9, 2009, like it was yesterday. I had recently sold all of my furniture, my car and was sitting in my dad's dinning room sorting through the only belongings I had left and shoving it all into two old suitcases. My dad came in with a scale to make sure my bags weren't overweight, as if he knew that the extra $100 it would have cost me would be more valuable when I arrived in the city and suddenly realized that living here would be the most expensive decision I ever make in my life. I said goodbye to my family, kissed my corgi and gave her the hardest squeeze I could without hurting her, and we were off to the airport. As we got on the highway my stomach began to slowly sink. I could feel tears of fear and sadness trying to make their way out of my eyes. My dad looked over and said.... "What's wrong, you scared?" I replied with a stressed out... "No." But I was. I was terrified. I was moving across the country by myself. I had no idea if I had what it takes to live in New York. All I knew, was that ever since I was a little girl, I've wanted to live here and work here. Somehow that morning, that knowledge did nothing for me. What if my family forgets about me? What am I going to miss? What if they think I'm leaving them? What if? What if? What if? It was too late to back out though. By the time I exhausted all of the 'what if's' of leaving home, we were already in the parking garage of the airport and my flight was scheduled to depart soon. My dad and I dragged my suitcases to the gate for check-in and the urge to fall apart into an emotional "I want my daddy" tantrum became quite strong. "We're in the wrong terminal" my dad said with an "Oh Shit!" glimmer in his eyes. We immediately ran back to the parking garage, as my flight was actually on the complete opposite side of the airport. Turns out, the parking garage at DFW airport is the size of a small country...and we absolutely couldn't find the car. Like at all. Thirty minutes later I dropped my suitcase on the ground of the garage sat down, dripping in sweat when my dad turned around, looked at his watch and said... "Your flight is taking off right now" with an "Oh Shit!" resolve in his eyes. And we laughed. We laughed hard. Finally, the car was found. We drove to the correct terminal, wrote down the parking garage details (lessons learned) and we sweet talked the ticketing agent to let me get on the next flight. The fear had subsided because I knew that this would be a moment my dad and I wouldn't forget on a day that we both would never forget. He gave me a giant hug and off I went. Six years later I'm still sitting on the balcony I sat on when I first arrived and I'm wondering what has changed. What has stayed the same? What have I accomplished? Am I disappointing that fearful but excited Colleen that arrived six years ago? I know that I am not the same person I was. I know that I am stronger. I know that I have found clarity in places in my life that I never thought possible. I know that I have been inspired as an artist in ways I never dreamed possible. I finished school. I wrote and produced a play. I became a teaching artist. I've worked with some of the world's best theatre artists. I've made life long friends. I've made a home for myself. On the other hand, I've been and am the poorest I've ever been in my life. I am not as far along in my career as I hoped I would be. I've watched my nieces grow up through photos. I've been absent when my family needed me. I've fallen in love with the wrong people. I've felt the most alone I've ever felt. Good. Bad. How do you find balance? How do you know that your life isn't a serious of wrong choices and fruitless dreams? Does that sound dramatic? I bet it does but you know what I mean. Because if you are a human being, no matter what stage of life you may be in, you've experienced this conundrum. I've found that once you reach your late 20's your thoughts can easily be consumed with this line of thinking. I don't like it. Our lives seemed to be structured on shit you are supposed to have accomplished by a certain age. We have these vision boards of what we expect from ourselves by certain points in a day, a week, a month, a year...a life. But if my book is right and time is in fact not linear, then why do we do that to ourselves? Does it not breed disappointment? Does it keep us from being present in life? I think it does. No, I know that it does. So my plan? Well, my plan is to make my last year of my 20's what I need it to be, as opposed to what I think it should be. I need to learn to be present. I need to love myself more. I need to be nicer to the girl staring back at me in the mirror. I need to take better care of myself. I need to let go more. I need take more risks. I need to be happy more. I don't know exactly how to achieve all these things except to trust my instincts and jump into the chaos and love it. To keep chasing my dreams and sharing my heart. To not to adhere to anyone else's time frames but my own. To hold on to the exciting fact that...a lot can happen in a year. But I will keep you posted, because I am back...like a bad rash.