L'Shana Tova

A few days ago was the Jewish New Year, and since I’m a New Year’s baby (born on January 1^st), a part of me considered a few days ago my birthday.

Regardless, I’ll use any excuse to reflect, but am happy to have Rosh Hashanah reinforcing the habit. The day is a large cultivator of introspection, with an emphasis on your most recent year.

So, here goes.

365 days ago, I was in my senior year of college. My sorority house was the center of my being- that or Gator City on Wednesday's Ladies Night. My face was painted every Saturday, I most looked forward to Pi Phi Taco Bar, I ran stadiums more than Tim Tebow, rode the Frat Row bus more than the frat row boys and studied more than, well, no one really (but school was free Dad, so no money wasted). Life was easy, other than the impending truth of its ease dwindling at the short semester's end.

225 days ago, I was pedaling the back roads of Cambodia, coming near death by monkey in Thailand and writing off 11-hour bus rides in Vietnam as a breeze. I met someone new every day, learned something new every day and loved something new every day. I saw the world as a revolving door- indefinitely open, so long as you push yourself through and closed only when you give up your strong arm. With might, my permanently inquisitive mind wandered to places, both physical and intangible. Experimental was my nature; nature was my eyes’ constant bliss; bliss was every step of my journey.

150 days ago, I moved to New York City, a dream turned to realization dangerously fast. I sleep along an exposed brick wall, my saunter to work is robotically second nature, my check book is dedicated to a heavy monthly tab, my closet screams for scarves and boots and my head can’t decide if this is, in fact, what it’s all about (the “real” world, not the hokey pokey). In the past few weeks, most of my Floridian (and also freezing) friends moved up to NYC. Combine that rambunctious round-up with the new friends I’ve made in the city (similar in unyielding energy), and it’s no wonder the lonely bone has yet to strike.

At the culmination of my year, set on three distinctly opposing stages, I feel wonderfully full (bursting at the seams), but insanely torn (bursting at my dreams).

I feel like this confused light, stay or go?

My lease ends in December, just saying.