It’s the Journey, Not the Number

22 Jan

The past two weeks I met stress and the verdict is still out on if I conquered it. Over-scheduling and multi-tasking are nothing new but a new job, a new home and a new age can be a bit cumbersome at 33.

No longer are schlepping boxes, meeting new people and waking-up in unfamiliar territory easy tasks to feel comfortable in. The body just isn’t as flexible, despite all the yoga, Pilates and dancing. Perhaps the memory needs to be worked on. For those of us that are sensitive, maybe leaving a house because there is one better suited does not always mean it’s easy to uproot.


Nonetheless, a new position and deciding to move are two choices we can make in life. Turning a year older however . . . well, it’s better than the alternative. I was recently inspired by Karlen Chase’s article, in which she counts what she has learned in the past 33 years, not so much the number of moves or gray hairs. So I decided to reflect on where I’ve called home for the past three decades and what I took away from my stays as I globe trotted.



New York State: Where life began and dreams were sprouted. Imagination got its start and Western New York is always home to go back to.



Ohio: Middle America. A roller coaster summer of awesomeness.



Dublin, Ireland: The closest place to heaven on Earth. The farther from home I got, the more people I met that were like me. Rosie cheeks, pints and tiny cigars. Stumbling upon a cottage George Bernard Shaw lived in during my usual hike up Dalkey Hill and going past the tower where Joyce wrote Ulysses because it was on my morning commute.



Rochester, NY: A first real (and still favorite apartment). Roving reporter. Real relationship. Good practice for life.



New York City: “Came here for school, graduated to the high life, Ball players, rap stars, addicted to the limelight, MDMA got you feeling like a champion, The city never sleeps better slip you a Ambien.” The Village and the Upper East Side, still a second home and where my heart is. Went there searching for life and got a story of a lifetime, friends forever and learned how to walk away.



Massachusetts: I didn’t want you. Serendipitous to have met certain people and two that moved there at the same time. Historical. Beautiful. Quiet.



Buffalo, NY: Apparently you can go home again, and pick up right where you left off. But this time, life is really fabulous and there are great friends, many laughs and expectations that I can’t even begin to map out because they are just going to be that good.



Single: Many aren’t afraid to tell me they always thought I’d be married by now. Sometimes I think it’s sad to admit I am incredibly happy because I am not, nor have I been, married. Perhaps it’s because I’m content and it’s hard to meet someone with the same life experiences. I’ve decided the latter is actually a great problem to have, because I’ve filled a life with lots of stories in a somewhat short period of time. I also have a hunch, what is around the corner will be worth the wait.



Gray: The plan is to age gracefully. Welcome gray hair because it will make me more distinguished and others will treat me with more respect. Wrong. The aforementioned is achieved in via mind and wisdom. Sure, presentation is important, but seeking that polished yet sexy Diane Sawyer look isn’t done by being natural. I recently went back to my roots – literally; and guess what, blonds do have more fun.

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