The long good-bye
It looks as if I’ll be leaving New York City in a year to a year-and-a-half. My boyfriend is leaving in about a month to pursue a reporting job there, and I am planning to follow in order to learn Mandarin and see a little more of the world.
About two years ago, I was waiting to hear back about my applications to the journalism schools at U.C. Berkeley and Columbia. Berkeley had accepted me but I had yet to hear from Columbia, and so for several weeks leaving New York City was a very real possibility. I was paralyzed with anxiety; I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else and being really happy. To me, New York City was the center of the universe, and I wanted to consecrate myself to it for the rest of my life. I ended up getting into Columbia, and was so, so happy.
Now, however, I’ve realized that the price I have to pay for living in New York City is insanity (not to mention spending half of my monthly income on a semi-basement studio). Today I was walking past one of those emergency phones on my way to work, and I briefly considered picking it up and screaming into it: “Yeah, I have an emergency! I’m freezing, I’m overeducated and I’m POOR!” That’s when I realized, maybe I could leave NYC, at least for a little while, without breaking my heart.
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