Black Wednesday.
I got to work at 7:45 and knew something was… off center. Like when you forget a teaspoon of salt in a batch of cookies, or your singing just a quarter of a step sharp. People I had never seen before were dressed in business formal and rushing around the VP offices, looking grim and worried. A cheer, the news, a dismissal, and then nothing. A bright afternoon with nothing to be done except make a choice.
I moved to New York three years, two months, and eight days ago. I had a couple thousand dollars, a stack of mediocre resumes, and a window-less apartment in the village. I learned my way around the city with a map and a list of important addresses (Hayley’s apartment, H&M, the library). I had no idea what I wanted to do. I had no idea what I wanted to be. I just wanted to make it in New York.
It feels like the loss of a dream, having to leave. I accomplished everything I set out for, but I never counted on falling in love with this place. I know life is a choice, and I could choose to stay. But I just don’t think I could go through trying to find my way again.
