That's what I've been repeating for over 48 hours. I live in New York. I live in...New York?? I live in New York? I live in New....York.....?
Why yes, yes I do.
I moved here two days ago. I brought 3 suitcases, a backpack and a duffel bag. I got the keys to my studio apartment in Astoria that night, around 11:14pm, and met the nicest Greek landlord I'll ever have. I shut the door, and absorbed what I saw before me. An empty apartment, with tons of cracks and dings in the wall. No toilet paper, soap, furniture or dishes. Taking in the fact that I will now start paying rent on the other side of the country, without a car, without the convenience of the sunshine, and authentic Mexican food. I sat in the opening of my doorway into my room, and started to weep.
I cried out of relief, that I had made it safe and through one of the most stressful travel days I've ever had. I cried out of horror; judging an apartment before I even gave it some TLC, questioning if I had made the "right" choice or not. I was in shock, of the fact that I was by myself, in this empty apartment, and felt like I had no where to turn. And lastly, I wept in joy. Utter accomplishment and fulfillment. I marinated in the fact that I had accomplished one of my life goals: to move to New York. I had worked my ass off in the past two years after college, to work up the finances, and the balls to do it. And I did it. I fucking did it. This moment, I'll never forget. Ever.
Growing up, I've always been a little older than the other kids. Inside at least. I've always felt like I was 10 years older then I really am, and knew how to deal with shit from the beginning. And if I didn't know exactly HOW to deal with things, I'd be unafraid of trying to figure it out. Up until two days ago, I've felt this way. But now that the real shit kicks in, I find myself terrified of dealing with shit and learning how to process things. Maybe responsibilities now are more important than ever. Now that I'm 23, which in reality isn't as old as it seems, I feel like I've reached a point in my life that I'd like to call: True adulthood.
For instance: I just bought a TV. A fucking TV. For my studio apartment in Astoria, NY. How much more adult can you get then that other then taking your kids to soccer? Or hip hop class. I still can't get over it. But I am falling in love with it. It's the beginning stages, where the infatuation is overwhelming. I have the freedom to decorate my place the way I want, decide what will fill my day, and take the next N or Q train out to the city, and just fucking walk. Walk around the city, the parks, the museums, watch shows, drink lattes and get my heart fucking pumping. I love the fact that I'm living the life I've always dreamt of. And it may not be as picturesque as my dreams had led them up to be, but nonetheless, this is the closest that I'm going to get.
I'm really not sure about where the next month will take me. I don't know where my friendships will go, relationships, shows, jobs, fucking life in general -- who the eff knows any of that shit. But I do know, that in the NOW, I am living a dream right now. And despite bumpy pavement, I'm happy you guys. And truly excited.