Well, ’tis the season, and I’m not seasoning. That’s actually not true–I am seasoning my salads and actually trying to be more healthy, even adding (gulp) chia seeds, which make me want to chirp and rock on a trapeze in a cage. However, this is the first year that I am not sending a Christmas card. I am not sure why this is. It’s kind of like something in me is pulling back this year. I even went to the #TinyPrints site and all, uploaded a photo, and aborted mission. Just not into it. This reminds me of when I decided it was time to leave NYC and move to the Cape. Here’s a little bit how it went down in an abridged version:
- I go to my 15-year high school reunion in #Cleveland and see all of my friends in our early-30s with spawn and husbands and homes. Juxtaposing our incomparable lifestyles, I realize I have nothing more than a mountain bike and an IKEA lamp in a rented studio apartment in NYC. I went from high school hero to real-life zero.
- I go back to NYC after the reunion, looking around and thinking, “This blows.” I stare at the unsigned lease renewal pinned to my fridge with a Winnie the Pooh magnet for about three weeks. Something in me can’t bring myself to sign.
- I call my friend in Los Angeles, and she tells me she’s moving to the Cape. Naturally, I make fun of her and think she’s all sorts of insane. I then call a few others to process this and let them know how cray I think she is for being such a loser to leave a metropolis like that for tumbleweeds on the Cape (when secretly I’m kind of envious with her bold move).
- I realize I’m in fact just aimless, and I need to bust. So I pack my stuff in basically a day, sell my bed on #Craigslist, and head for the Cape.
And here I am. Now I have my own spawn, my own house, and this book.