the ramble

So here it is. The day I have chosen to share all that is in my heart. I’ve been pondering and wondering and planning and changing everything. And the inconclusive Gigi has finally concluded on most of the important things.

I spent a year, no, more than a year, trying to figure things out. Trying to find myself in the debris of a broken heart and a broken religion and the heavy knowledge that people think I’m strong–and that I must live up to that.

I moved to New York with my face to the wind in defiance and my back turned permanently to those things that I’d let into my heart only to break it in two. I don’t mean just men. I took a chance and it worked. I moved into an unknown place with no one and nothing and I lived and I made it work. A year later I’ve managed a 30% raise and a promotion. I have managed to live in all three boroughs. I have my own little space, painted by yours truly and decorated by the same.

A year. A year in New York City. So much happens in a year.

I worked as a waitress for a day (didn’t know that, did you?). I worked as a sales consultant. And a sales supervisor. I got over a boy. I had a boyfriend. I lost him. I lived in East Village. I lived in Astoria. I lived in Park Slope. I’ve been to churches and to clubs. I’ve kissed strangers and learned to say no to my friends. I have done New York. And I’m done with New York.

I’m leaving.

And very soon.

The wheels are unstoppably in motion. The apartment has been offered to someone else. Plane tickets have been bought. Seven boxes are packed. And I will not be turning back.

When I was in San Francisco I thought a lot about this. I thought about New York. I thought about my inexplicable love for the city and how that love has also contained some hate. I thought about how unhappy I have been, for so long. I hate the money mentality here. I hate that I work and I work and I work just to feed all the money back into this machine of my life. How my rent costs as much as my friend’s mortgage. How I make more money than my successful friends, and yet can give less to charity and do less things. I thought about the dating here. I thought about how temporary and varied it is. I thought about how every person I know here is lonely. Every one. Even the ones who are dating. And I thought about the things I miss. The mountains and hiking. Kayaking. Long drives in the country. A community. Coffee shops. Knowing your neighbors. Working normal hours. Writing. Love. Deep friendships. Long intellectual conversations. Relational stability.

And I decided that it was time to go. Because I don’t hate New York. I don’t at all. I will always love this city and always be glad I spent a year living here–however pricey and relationally difficult. I will always and forever be desperately in love with the Brooklyn Bridge (where, fun fact you wouldn’t expect, I have never been kissed–despite a rather pathetic effort once). I love the rooftop views of the city and how I can watch the sun paint the skyline of New York orange while I ride the train home at night. I love the long walks and the wind whipping around the buildings. I love Prospect Park and sunny, yet cool, days with Mike or Jenn. And I love the feeling of places like Bryant Park, where you are simultaneously surrounded by green and two feet from a building.

New York will continue to have part of my heart. But, like any bad relationship, ours must end. I love and hate New York much like I love and hate my first love.

So, after all that rolling back and forth over my thoughts with words that may or may not make sense, the plan is this:

At the end of the summer I leave New York City. My boxes and bookshelf will preceed me, on a truck to their temporary storage. And then me and my dark green hiking backpack (the best christmas gift I ever got…about 8 years ago now) are going to Europe. I’m finally going to say “I’ve been to all the continents”. I’m going to check five of my top ten countries to visit off the list. I’m going to visit a castle and a pub. I’m going to ride a train across Italy and a ferry to Greece. To drink wine in Tuscany and lay on the beach in Greece. And to see Heinrich again.

When I get back, I leave for Colorado. My new home. To start anew. To do the crazy job search/new life/new friends thing all over again.

I’m changing my life, folks.

I’m taking out the garbage and letting hope back in to my heart. So beaten down and so ready for life to start being lived again.

I’m going to write. I’m going to know people. Love people. Fall in love. Travel. Explore. And change.

The year of indecisive and unknowing Gigi is over. It’s a year of change and hope. Now christened as such.

So wish me luck. And try to understand that I may not write here much. Or at all. Anymore.

Because I also want to become more private. I want to have my secrets. I want to write for publication. I want to spend my time elseware for now.

Farewell, darlings, it has been quite some journey.

Gigi