Making It Here

It's electric, it's brash, it's the city that never sleeps – It's New York, Baby.

I spent ten southern years plotting my way back to New York, and by god, here I am. I've had a few Mary Tyler Moore moments walking through the city, popping into my favorite bodega for fresh flowers and actually making my way around without getting on the lost on the subway.

But just beneath those really great moments is this: a pestering voice asking, "So you're here. Now what?" That voice, though condescending, has a point. I don't want simply moving here to be my greatest accomplishment. I want to do more. I came to do more.

It just seems that more is taking its sweet ol' time to get to me, or rather, me to it.

"I don't want simply moving here to be my greatest accomplishment. I want to do more. I came to do more."

Moving to New York was instant gratification. I wanted to do it, and with one plane ticket, I did – no depending on luck or time. It happened as soon as I decided I wanted it to happen. For someone who is as horribly impatient as I am, it was perfect. I'm only now processing that everything else about being here won't be that way.

New York is a hard city for many, and I try to remind myself of that whenever the voice gets too loud for comfort. I have a more than affordable place to live and a job – that's more than a lot of people can say for themselves when they first come here.

Since time seems to be my biggest enemy, it helps to look at things this way: I've been a college graduate for a month and I've only been an official New York resident for about a week. A little patience would do me some good.