lessons from new york

initially I debated titling this post "lessons from the dirty, smelly, rat-infested, humid shoebox that they call New York City," but, you know. Political correctness and all (more like, I don't want to come under the wrath of any angry New Yorkers, and I also would hate to be the one to shatter the millions of dreams of those that still believe New York is like, the best place ever, ever). But I digress.

this summer was not an easy one. In no particular order: my Crohn's required serious medical attention, I was driven out of my first apartment by swarms of angry rats, I broke my foot, I ended up living alone and was very lonely, I practically had no friends, my anxiety and depression took a turn for the worse, and, most importantly, I finally came to terms with the fact that what I thought I wanted my entire life is not really what I want anymore. And that this does not make me a failure, and if anyone is disappointed in me because of it, well, then, that's their problem (although no one is disappointed in me; I just tend to make up worst-case-scenarious in my head). Also, there were other things that happened that I do not wish to discuss on such a public forum.

but anyway, even though I've been having this seemingly never-ending streak of, I don't know, bad luck? a friend reminded me yesterday that no, life is not out to get me. And even better, I have always been a firm believer that everything, absolutely everything, happens for a reason, even if sometimes we can't see what it is right away. Luckily for me, I think I see it.

this summer truly taught me to rid myself of others' expectations and do what I'm truly passionate about.

and so here is where I talk about what I am passionate about:

writing, of course. I dream of being a successful writer. Freelancing, publishing a couple of novels. And I know it won't be easy, but it's really comforting to know that I am already trying to make it happen (I made 40 bucks this week. Baller).

I want to teach creative writing lessons or workshops on the side. Maybe for a nonprofit, even. Dream.

I would love to move to the West Coast and live by the ocean.

I want to dedicate some time to taking photos only in film (good thing I bought instax film the other day).

anddddd, finally. This one I am a little hesitant to admit to (especially because you must all -- I mean, all two of you or whatever -- be sick and tired of hearing me rant and rave about gymnastics, especially since the Olympics are now over and no one cares), but here goes: For the longest time, I've been dreaming of getting back into the sport that I so abruptly left when I was 14. Sure, I tried a couple of times, but I gave up too quickly, insisting that I would never be as good as I once was, or that everything hurt and there is just no point in going through so much physical pain when you will never make it (make what, exactly?). Which I know is a terrible attitude to have. But, the other day, as I wasted invaluable hours of my day on Facebook, I came across an old teammate's page. She is a few years older than me and only quit gymnastics a couple of years after I did. Well, to my surprise, it seems that she's been back at it for a year now! And what's even better, she looks incredible -- in my opinion, much better than she ever did when you were younger.

so if she can do it, I can too. And I will do it. Because I love it, and I deserve to do the things that I love.

I mean, once my foot isn't broken anymore, obviously.

this is all to say, I suppose you weren't so bad to me after all, New York.