This isn’t the first time I’ve lived away from home. It’s not even the farthest I’ve lived from home. But one thing New York has in common with the other places I’ve lived, I never in a million years thought I’d live here. I even told my grandmother one time I had no desire to move to The Big Apple.
And now here I am, more than 40 years after Grandma packed up the family and moved them out of Brooklyn and into South Florida, back in the city my great-great-(great?)-grandparents came to from Italy.
Before training, I was so set on being based in Miami. I’d live at home with Mom, not pay rent, save money. I was going to be next to the beach, see my friends, and most importantly, go to as many of my cousins’ soccer games and dance recitals as possible.
But in the few weeks I’ve been in New York, I know this was the right decision.
I’m a believer in fate and that everything happens for a reason. I know I wasn’t given Miami as a base option for a reason. And I know the idea of living in New York didn’t terrify me for a reason.
And every time I came back from a trip and look out of the jumpseat window of whatever big silver bird I’m flying on, I get to see the city that never sleeps, I get to see the place where people come to make their dreams come true and fall in love. And I know, if I can make it here, I can make it anywhere.
AAdventure Seeker 