Reclaiming My Mellow

Within days of my arrival in New York City, six short years ago, I was in love. Crazy, oblivious, passionate love. The muggy late summer air, putrid with scents of human urine and rotting garbage, seemed to me an invigorating breeze. The insane requests of my absolutely psychotic, very probably Mafioso bosses were simply hilarious anecdotes, and fabulous life experiences. The hour and a half I spent on the crowded, local A train at 6 in the morning before classes, and again at midnight after my shift at the restaurant, in order to get to and from my apartment in Inwood (the last stop in Manhattan) was a wonderful opportunity to work on my core strength while holding coffee, a book and applying mascara. The $10 it cost me to buy a coffee with a name I couldn't pronounce, well that was simply the cost of being a REAL New Yorker. Yes, I was unquestionably, undeniably, head-over-heels in love with my new home.

And she loved me too. My life in NYC was truly magical. In my first job here I nearly spilled soup on Macy Gray while serving her lunch, I took delivery orders from Whoopie Goldberg and I emerged from our bathroom on many occasions purposely disheveled so that Nick Arrojo, a regular, would perhaps whisk me away and hand me over to his good friends Stacy & Clinton. I did makeup for print publications and Fashion Week runways. I made incredible friends from around the world who opened my eyes to new kinds of music, art and food. I finally received my college degree and earned an array of dream-come-true jobs with cosmetic and media industry giants. And of course, one week into my city residence, I had my first date with Tal, and well... the rest is history.

I found my stride in New York, and I'm very proud of who I've become.  But there are also parts of me which have faded in the hustle and bustle of city life. When I arrived here in well-worn Birkenstocks with purple hair and dreams of becoming a theatrical makeup artist, I considered myself a free-spirit, judgement free with eyes and arms open to the world. These days, slow walking tourists or a bad manicure set off a string of internal profanities Eminem would find offensive.

I know that in India, and in many of the other places we will likely travel and live, I will be reminded of how lucky I am to be me. I know that I will see things that will break my heart, and I know I will have the opportunity to do things that will mend it. NYC changed me in ways for which I will be forever grateful, but I think my next adventure is a perfect opportunity to refocus on finding my place in the world, and not simply which shoes I should wear when I arrive.

How am I feeling? Now, or 30 seconds ago?

The last few weeks have been a flurry of emotions. Telling our friends and family about our adventure was equal parts exciting and upsetting. I've discovered that when I'm REALLY nervous, my face twitches. No, not my eye. My whole face.

Moving to the other side of the world this abruptly means that we're missing several very special weddings, the birth and first months of the child of close friends, and I'm sure countless other celebrations that have yet to be announced.  As a results, feelings, has been a popular topic of conversation  lately.

When we called our friends and family to tell them we had exciting news to share, the reactions were mixed. But for the most part, their feelings fell into one of three categories:

Friends who live in NYC: "WHAT? No. WHAT? I'm sooo excited for you!! No I'm not. WHY ARE YOU LEAVING ME? Okokokok. I really am excited for you. Kind of.  So, you're sure you're not pregnant?"

Friends who live outsite of NYC and who we only see a few times a year anyway: "You're joking right? Wait, you're serious? This isn't like the time Tal told us he was going to Africa and just lived in LA for 5 months? Ok, Really? I'M TOTALLY COMING TO VISIT YOU! So, you're sure you're not pregnant?"

Family: The sound of a jaw hitting a table, followed by silence. "So you're sure you're not pregnant?"

The other side of this, is that once the news sinks in, people inevitably ask how we're feeling about the move.

I don't really think I've been doing this topic justice verbally, so I've decided that the obvious, and clearest way for me to explain the current state of our emotions, is with pictures of random children (which I copied illegally from Google) as visual aids. Obviously.
  
Here's how Tal feels... All. The. Time.:

                                                        

I'm feeling a little more... how shall I put this? ...mixed.

Here's how I feel at the beginning of each day when I think about our upcoming move:

                                                    

But mid-day after I've checked and rechecked our to-do list, googled "can you buy peanut butter in India" for the millionth time and stress eaten my way through a roll of Girl Scout cookies, I start to feel like this:

                                                     

And by 3am, when I'm lying awake staring at our bedroom ceiling and wondering if my stomach was adequately empty when I took my oral Typhoid immunization pill, if I remembered to cancel all my magazine subscriptions, if I'll be able to over come my terrible motion sickness in India's notorious traffic, if I have any overdue library books laying around, and OHDEARGOD WHAT IF THEY DON'T HAVE COFFEE IN THE OFFICES IN INDIA?!? I look exactly like this:

                                               

Does that help?