Much like the leaves at this time of year, there are pieces of me scattered all over the Big Apple. Central Park, Union Square, Park Avenue, Wall Street, Columbus Circle/Lincoln Center, South Street Seaport, Times Square, Alphabet City. And many other places too insignificant (though not to me) to name. Every moment, every memory is embedded somewhere deep within this city and I yearn to revisit them. I was reminded of this during a recent “family day” with my husband and two children. We spent the morning at a playground in Central Park, laughing as the kids hustled back and forth between the sand and the swings. I felt so happy and content with life in that moment, and that’s not a feeling I’ve luxuriated in much over the past few years.
I’ve walked the park more times than I can count–back in the days when I took everything about this city for granted. When you work in Manhattan, it’s easy to get caught up in the tiresome, relentless pace. It’s only when you leave–for what seems an eternity–that you realize what you’ve left behind. And I don’t mean the city itself.
I spent 13 years in NYC as a single professional, trekking back and forth on subway after subway after subway, trying to find and hold onto the American dream. You know the one: that traditional, old-fashioned fantasy of getting married and having children (three in my case). I wanted it more than anything. I couldn’t think about anything else. I didn’t care about the trees, I only wanted the forest. And if you know me and my fascination with solitary trees, that’s saying a lot.
I adored the city at first. I wanted to explore every nook and cranny and lose myself in the chaotic energy that consumes anyone who enters. But over the years all of that faded and the loneliness set in. I began to lose bits and pieces of myself as I questioned my place in this world and who I was meant to be. How did I end up working on Wall Street and pursuing a career I didn’t even want instead of raising a family? Why did I repeatedly date the same (i.e., wrong) type of guy? Where was my happily ever after with Mr. Right? Would I ever have children? Why did God always seem to forget about me? These thoughts consumed me back then, turning my mind into a dark and lonely place. I began to see NYC through my dirty, cloud-covered glasses, an ocean of pavement littered with my shattered hopes and dreams. Again, the pieces.
Everyone always tells me I’m a much stronger person than I give myself credit for, and I guess they’re right because I don’t know how else I would have survived those years. But I did, and I thank God every day for the path upon which he accompanied me.
So, all these years later, when I find myself back in the city where it all began, an ear-to-ear smile on my face and the wind blowing through my hair, I feel whole again. And I realize that those pieces I left behind weren’t “lost,” as I once thought. They were my yellow brick road, leading me to where I am today: married to a wonderful man and blessed with two beautiful (although crazy) kids.
I’m finally living the dream! And the wait was damn worth it!