Saturday was the most perfect New York morning.
I woke up after a night of intriguing dreams, pulled back my curtains, and watched the trees outside my window dance in the wind. I think it’s ironic that the apartment I found in the city gives me a tiny reminder of where I came from with my window facing the “backyards” of the buildings around me.
I crawled out of bed, put on my mini-robe, and checked the slew of social media sites that keep my occupied: Facebook, Twitter, Gmail, and of course this blog. I woke up to find two encouraging Facebook messages, one from an old friend and then another a new one. Of course, that’s a wonderful way to start any day – to know you’re helping other people, and something that’s dear to you is special to someone else. It is one of my favorite things about being a writer.
As an avid gym rat, I got dressed and stretched while listening to my iTunes – casually dancing along if I so felt inclined. On the way to the gym, I caught up with one of my best friends, N (who tells me if there are errors in this blog, so thank her!) and then ran three miles.
Walking back to my apartment, iced coffee in hand, the chilly Fall air blowing against me – I realized something so sincere and so true and so pure that I could feel it to my core:
Maybe that sounds ridiculous or like something that every person has, but not me. I’ve been going, going, going my entire life towards something. In high school, I just wanted to turn 16 so I could drive. Once I was 16, I just wanted to graduate from high school and turn 18. Once I got to college, I just wanted to be involved. Once I was involved, I wanted to be in charge. Once I was in charge, I wanted to apply to be in the real-world and get to New York. And then once I got a taste of New York, I just wanted to go back.
But now, I’m here. I have a full life: a career (not a job), a group of new friends (and lots of old), an apartment that’s in the city, and I’m healthy and feel so young. I feel like I’m just beginning, I’m starting to bloom, I’m starting to radiate, I’m starting to realize this beauty inside of myself…and it just feels so good. So, so, so good.
I didn’t think I could reach that easy, peaceful feeling inside of me. I didn’t think I could get to the point where I’m content and satisfied, even without a man. Without even a prospect. And it is not that I’m “happy” about being single, but rather, I’m not defined by that term anymore. Yes, I’m single (minus my wonderful gay hubby) – but that’s not who I am. And I’m not defined by my career either, but by myself.
This happiness doesn’t stem from a great article that was published or from a man who kissed me in the middle of a sushi bar or from losing five pounds. I can’t even put into words where it comes from or how I got here, but it feels so right.
It feels like love.
I think I’m starting to sincerely love myself. I really think I’m in the start of the “honeymoon” stage of falling in love. I find myself blushing as I’m writing this and tears are starting to build up in my eyes because I’m so thankful. I’m so proud. Like any love relationship, it takes time and it takes patience and practice and an understanding, but I finally got to a starting point.
To celebrate, I think I’ll take myself out to brunch tomorrow. Hey, I may even buy some tulips and take a cab instead of the train.
And so the journey…continues. My happily ever after has officially begun.