Venturing Out into a Brave New
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about dating in New York City–having loved and lost –and sometimes still not being sure if I’m over it–it’s that I’ll never try to be someone I’m not ever again. I’ll never try to be the more mature, the more put together version of myself–the one that has left me so unsatisfied and so unsure of myself–because if I am not going to be loved for all the imperfections and inconsistencies that make me the beautiful and messed up person that is me then that is not a love worth having.
I don’t want to be so unsure, I don’t want to spend every second in a relationship standing up straight, staying away from cigarette–though I should do that anyway–not swearing, not saying what’s on my min–not being me. The me that’s crazy and wild and has insane mental freak outs for no reason after too much wine. The me that is inappropriate and messy. I want to be me and I want to be loved that wa–no compromises, no broken promises.
And I hope one day, after all of this break up pain, and dating drama has settled that I will go to bed–without the aid of White Russians or anti-anxiety medications–with complete satisfaction in my life and with the knowledge that all I need is myself and my own ingenuity to move forward and to succeed. One day I will and on that day I will look back at all of these mistakes and actions made without any form of judgment and think: it was all worth it and I am a star.
I fear getting on the train, the express as much as the local, because I know that as we wiz on by and then creep, ever so slowly past 66th…59th…and then there it is, 50th street. His stop. The stop where I used to get off on Saturday mornings to go and have bacon and eggs. The stop where I used to be held in the dead of the night when I had scary dreams that left me shaken. The stop where I was never myself. The stop where I fell in love. The stop where I fell out of love.
I find myself gazing out the window at that stop in the morning, on the way to my internship in Chelsea, huddled in between people’s fall jackets like an overheated mouse. There’s a thick metal line that cuts the subway window in two. It cuts the heads off of the people standing on the 50th street platform, making them faceless, anonymous. I still try to crane my neck to see if he’s standing there. And I feel crazy because I know he isn’t. He doesn’t take the train to work, but I am compelled to look, I’m drawn to it.
I bet Grey’s already found someone else–someone maybe slightly taller, slightly older and much less interesting. But someone equally as willing to keep their mouth shut and let him take the lead. Someone who has become a shell of themselves as I was during most of our relationship. I’m sure she’s nice, I’m sure she’s polite and well educated but she isn’t as lucky as me. She hasn’t realized the life outside and the beauty in herself. She’s embarking on a new adventure, and maybe it’ll work out. Maybe they are meant for each other. That won’t do for me, never again. I’m the best me there is and I vow to never be afraid to be me again.
I’m venturing out into a brave New
World York. I’m scared and I’m deeply anxious, but I have to go. There is no looking back. I have to step onto the steaming city streets and start my life again. I may be alone and I may not be feeling too brave. I’m afraid for the future. Everything is unclear. But I can’t go on living a lie and I can’t go on pretending I’m not the person that I was born to become.
Let the adventures begin and may they be plentiful.