Super Mario.
It’s been almost four months since I jumped. I wrote about being stuck in cement and I managed to pull myself out. I made the decision. I quit my job and moved to New York. It felt so good and right and I was finally proud of myself for acting on something that would shake the monotony of it all. I wanted to bleed again. I wanted to shake gravity. It was the level up.
I do not have one single regret and the move was not wrong. It was so very right. Alas, a lot of what I tried to escape in CT remains today. Everything is the same, there has just been a palpable shift. I think NYC does that. It’s massive and lonely and sometimes the only friend is your thoughts. With an abundance of stimulation and possibility, every free second becomes reclusion to your own personal ideas, dreams, and more often than not, fears. Bombarded with choices, we second guess every move, every morning, every passerby as if they are another huge decision waiting to happen. The city extends a spoonful of food, friends, alcohol, party, and opportunity, and you’re supposed to be happy with each additional bite. The opposite tends to be true, at least with me. This place is the ultimate distraction from yourself, but at the same time the ultimate mirror from which you cannot run.
That mirror today reflects the same as it did months ago in Connecticut. I have acne scars and crows feet around my eyes. I have white teeth (thanks to a Dad for a dentist) and thin hair. My eyes are deep dark brown and I have a pointy chin. The physical changes into my late 20s do not compare to the changes I have experienced within. The transformation from state to state does not compare to the rest and the weight of it all.
As I said, the problems were to go away. The bright lights were meant to cast out the restlessness and discontent. The streets and bars were to drown out the noise inside. The thrill of it all was what I wanted. The next logical sentence would be “I thought this magic pill was was going to change my life forever, but it didn’t.” The thing is, it has. Some people get caught up in finding their purpose, their forever home, or even their forever person immediately. I do this daily. The issue with this line of thinking is that it downplays the vital importance of process-of-elimination and experience. I may not have found my home. New York might not be the end-all. Nonetheless, I can’t stress enough how much I freaking love what it is doing to me. These long walks flip the script on previous beliefs. The abundance of everything makes choices simpler. The previous confusion, through street smog and sirens, becomes clearer and clearer. In a way, it’s the perfect environment. It will not reveal the answers, but rather force you to decide: You can have anything. What is it that you truly want?
If Indeed taught me anything (other than CPC and campaign management) it’s that a job is just a paycheck if you are not passionate about it. If this move taught me anything, it’s that an address is just that: a place where your mail comes and you rest your head. We turn the pages of our 20s looking at the next relationship, the next apartment, and the next giant decision to save us. The truth is, the act of turning the page opens our hearts to a realm of experience we didn’t know was possible. A partner may turn the mirror to reveal what you actually value most. A new city might bring a new vocation or hobby to the forefront.
As corny as it sounds, the answer isn’t in the stuff. The answers are already there. Life creates it all, and finds it all. I no longer wait for grand findings or expect the next step to solve all my problems. I don’t band-aid my life with a shiny new possession or title. This whole thing is not a game. We act like there are levels and achievements to unlock. There aren’t podiums and medals.
Don’t expect the answers when you look in that mirror. You’re going to be disappointed that they aren’t there (and that you look more tired with each passing year). Your next level-up might not take away all your hardship. Know that it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t turn the page. You may just check another item off your list. You may quiet the noise. These bright lights will reveal a side of your yourself that cannot be seen in your reflection.
Song of the day: Lovely Navigator (Adam Barnes)
