I trudged through the snow on my way to Prospect Park. It had snowed a lot and was snowing still. A brief rain shower earlier left the sidewalk extra slippery leaving me, a person who lives in constant fear of falling on her ass, extra cautious. My eyes were peeled to the ground looking for spots of safety as I performed what can only be described as my ‘Patient Recovering from a Knee Replacement Surgery’-shuffle.
Adding to the stressful walk was a couple walking in front of me holding hands. Any other day this would’ve been fine but today it was frustrating. Because the couple wasn’t trudging like I was. No, they were strolling. And unless I wanted to risk stepping and slipping into a pile of wet snow, it was impossible to pass.
I hated the hand holders.
I left my apartment in a wild blizzard to post sarcastic videos of sledders on my Instagram, not to partake in a precarious walk behind the goddamn happiest couple in Brooklyn. My journey was causing me to use way more concentration than I expected. I questioned my journey as I steadied myself with my imaginary IV pole.
As I was granted more walking freedom further down the street, I made it through the Endale Arch and even though I was still nervous about falling, I wanted to appreciate the Arch’s restored beauty. In quick, panicked bursts I took her in.
I whipped my head up: “Beautiful wood!”
I whipped my head down: “Balance, bitch, balance!”
It wasn’t until I made it to the great lawn, that I could finally pause, breathe and fully take my surroundings in. I made it. Not only that, I didn’t slip or fall. The ‘treacherous trudge’ had become immediately worth it.
I’m not usually a timid person. I don’t stop myself from trying new things, riding roller coasters and doing things that scare me. I’m the first one to suggest making that random left off the road or riding the subway out of my way just because. I’m 100% horny for infrastructure and the various ways our bodies travel to and arrive at different locations. But when it comes to emotionally getting somewhere; the planning, the timing, the ‘treacherous trudge’ of moving from point A to point B, I often feel helpless.
Transitions are hard. Leaving is hard. I’m lucky to be someone who adapts quickly when traveling but it makes coming home super depressing. It sometimes takes me days to recover. Not just from different time zones, but from everything. Returning home often feels heavy when anywhere I go feels familiar in a matter of days, sometimes hours. Even returning from work trips with a fried brain, two-day hangover, and a new Patagonia jacket I somehow won in a dance off leave me emotionally depleted. Like I’m starting over.
But this time I really was starting over.
I recently packed up my first 1-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn to move to my first 1-bedroom apartment in the suburbs. For the two weeks leading up to the move, I felt like I was in a constant state of trudge. Permanently trapped behind the happy, hand-holding couple, unable to move freely, watching everyone else go about their lives and routines as I was upending mine. Everything felt wrong. Everything felt sad and I most certainly didn’t feel like myself. Putting your life in boxes sucks. There’s no fun way to take magnets and pictures off your fridge without feeling some feelings.
I could see the arrival, I wanted the arrival, and yet my feet refused to move. My eyes would close. I‘d take a nap. I wanted to do anything but the thing I knew would make me grow. Sure, I’m a master procrastinator but this was different.
People ask "If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?" but what about “If you move to the suburbs, did your life in Brooklyn even happen?” Did I leave a mark in Crown Heights? Did my 7ish years trying to impress audiences, gatekeepers and snarky bartenders prove anything? Will my lovers remember me? Will the laundry guy wonder where the girl with the “Whose Jizz Is This?” tank went?
All those thoughts raced in my head because I knew once I moved I would be busy moving forward. Adapting as quickly as I do in expensed Marriots in Chicago or friends' couches in Austin.
And I did. Or am. I’m not fully adapted yet but it’s happening. The snow and trudge has melted and I’m close to strolling with no fear of falling.
Oh wait. I keep forgetting I live in the suburbs now. I’m driving with no fear of falling.