Home.

As far back as I can remember, I dreamt of distant cities and countries, places where people talked in different languages and accents, where food and fashion were foreign and nothing was assumed or expected as normal. I dreamt of an adventurous life moving around like a gypsy with a bounty on my head. I dreamt of a string of international lovers, never settling down in one place or at one job or with one person for long. That life, that lack of connection to any place or person, was what I thought I was meant to live, and I sought out to fulfill that destiny.

The place that I was supposed to call home for so many years is a place that, regardless of rights or wrongs or truthfulness or memory, I never felt that connection to. Everyone's memories are clouded by their own experiences and perceptions, but as the Good Prophet Doctor Phil teaches us, the only thing that matters is how you felt, and how those feelings shaped you. And the simple matter is that this home was a place I never felt welcome or comfortable. It was useless to try to explain why, no matter how hard I tried. Obviously, I thought, the reason that I couldn't connect to any places that were supposed to be my home was the common denominator: me. I had to have been the problem so there was no escaping this destiny.

But something remarkable has happened in recent years. I stopped searching. I stopped running. I stopped trying to find where I was supposed to be, and instead I just was. Maybe I was simply ready. Maybe I'd gone through enough and was just too tired to keep trying to be something I wasn't. But I know that when I met the man who is now my husband, I let myself learn for the first time what it was like to not be judged on what I was or what I was supposed to be for other people, but instead to be appreciated for who I am. Instead of a life where nothing I did was right, no matter how hard I tried, I found myself in a life where everything was right because it was truth. It was me. I did what felt right and so it was.

And I found peace.

The life that I have found in the city that became mine exactly two years ago is a life full of amazing people doing incredible things. Supporting their friends, their families, and their community, and allowing themselves to be happy. It was hard to accept for a long time and I still find myself doubting it occasionally, but thankfully at increasingly longer intervals. I know that I have never felt so free to follow my passions and dreams, and I have found others who feel the same way. Maybe it's this specific place that was founded by crazy dreamers who wouldn't take no for an answer. Maybe it's just that I subconsciously choose to find people who are like me. Or maybe I just notice these things now and hadn't before.It doesn't matter why I feel this way, only that I do. And now that I know what it feels like, nobody can take it away from me no matter where I go.

I will always have wanderlust, but I no longer travel in search of that elusive connection or in search of other options. I have finally found what I was always looking for, what I thought I would never have. And although I found it here, it no longer matters where I am, whether it's Dallas or New York, Atlanta or Miami, California or Paris or Cape Town or Shanghai...

With this knowledge, with this peace, I've found my home. And for that, I am truly thankful.

Identity.

culture shock (noun): a state of bewilderment and distress experienced by an individual who is suddenly exposed to a new, strange, or foreign social and cultural environment

assimilation (noun): a process by which members of a minority group lose cultural characteristics that distinguish them from the dominant cultural group or take on the cultural characteristics of another group.

Assimilation usually involves a gradual change and takes place in varying degrees; full assimilation occurs when new members of a society become indistinguishable from older members.

1369.87 miles. That's how far I am now from the place I called home for the most formative decade of my life. Before I moved there I was mostly still in the same geographical region; a full-fledged "Yankee" my entire life.

People keep asking if the transition has been hard. And the easy answer is no, it hasn't been hard. Dallas is still a modern and fashionable city full of interesting people and a thriving arts and food scene. I'm lucky to live in a rare urban section where I am two blocks from some of my favorite boutiques, restaurants, and salons.  In terms of convenience, with the exception of the lack of a corner bodega and readily available public transportation, it isn't much different. Here I have without a doubt an easier life and a healthier life because of that.

In New York it was only me and my daughter and some incredible friends and neighbors when I really needed them and was actually willing to ask for help. But here I have my amazing fiance and an unconditionally loving and supportive family (for the first time in my life). And he, the man who I dated via email, long late-night phone calls, and a plethora of miles on American Airlines, has done everything in his power to help me adjust and to welcome both me and my daughter into his home and friendships. The rest of the people I have met have been unbelievably welcoming and warm, and I have been overwhelmed by how many I have come to quickly adore, and the number of opportunities I've had to meet more. With the traveling that I do for my NY-based job and the time I spend with my family, I have not been able to attend or participate in so many things I have wanted to. There is no shortage of things to do and to keep me involved and enjoying life in Dallas when I have the time for them. And of course I now actually have a washing machine, a dishwasher, and a pool; luxuries that most Manhattanites can only dream of.

I am working on getting my driver's license, which will make things even easier for me, and I am on the hunt for a Dallas-based job that will keep me in town more often. My fiance and I are trying to figure out where in the world (literally) to hold our wedding and once we get that figured out we can get to planning and get that stress off of our shoulders.

The transition, logistically and superficially, has been easy.

But emotionally and psychologically it has been and continues to be a challenge. When you spend your whole life thinking of yourself and your friends in one way, and you suddenly have that thinking turned upside down, how do you handle that? It's not about New York vs. Dallas, or even North vs. South. It's simply one culture- of my family, my neighborhood, my childhood environment, my way of thinking, vs. another- the one I've been surrounded by since my move here.

When I was 16, I was awarded a scholarship to participate in a summer exchange program and lived with a family in Greece for two months. A lot of life lessons came from that trip. I had to step out of my comfort zone every day. The food, the smells, the language, the alphabet, the styles, the weather, the music, everything was different. But I adapted. And I fell in love with that country. That was the trip that made me appreciate food and hospitality to the extent that I do today and I am beyond grateful for that experience. After that I would say you could pick me up and plunk me down anywhere in the world and I would be fine. I would adapt. I am a natural chameleon.

Anywhere, I would joke, but Texas. And everyone would laugh because it made sense. I was "such a New Yorker!" friends and strangers alike always said. I grew up loving everything about that city; I had posters of the skyline on the walls of my childhood bedroom and even on the worst days during my time there, I loved it. Everything was beautiful and interesting and amazing and I knew at my core, I belonged there.

And so when I first started dating my Texan it was hilarious to everyone who knew me. I wasn't serious, was I? But I was. I fell in love with a person and everything about our relationship was right, regardless of the geographical and cultural differences. I knew this move was something I had to consider back when it was only a flirtation. It was just another state, another city. It was still part of my country; surely it couldn't be that hard.

I know it's usually a light-hearted joke when Southerners talk about the Yankees, but you all know that there is usually truth in jest. Most of it comes from confusion. Why do they do the things they do and think the way they think? It is confusing so we make jokes out of it. But it is true that the inherent culture is so drastically different. You can talk all you want about people just being people and it's a big city like anywhere else, and to some extent of course that's true. But to adapt to a new culture you have to step out of your own and this is the first time I've had to step SO FAR out of my comfort zone in order to really see the people and the culture around me for what they were. Traveling abroad I found more people who were "like me" than I've found here, in a city that is in my own country. And that's okay, but it does take some time to adjust to.

The women here are beautiful, there is no doubt. But it is hard to accept a culture where aesthetic beauty is valued so highly, when you are raised in a culture where it is devalued. Life experience, education, knowledge of the events of the world are what I always looked for in friends and colleagues, and so did they. We endeavored to improve ourselves intellectually and culturally, not aesthetically. We, as a culture, were proud of aging gracefully and used any cosmetic enhancements sparingly. So when I first came to Texas my guard was up and I was initially turned off by the southern belle stereotype and the requisite "bling," cosmetic surgery and big hair. The first girls I met in Texas were fodder for countless jokes in my NYC office for the months before my move. It's no secret that I started off with the "us versus them' mentality and it was frustrating. It was mostly frustrating because once I moved here, I really liked the majority of the people I was meeting and that caused so much inner conflict. But I have worked really hard to embrace what makes Dallas special, even if that means going out of my comfort zone as I learned to do 17 years ago.

When we got engaged last August and officially decided that I would be the one to move cross country, one of the first things I did was walk into the Sephora on 5th Avenue on my lunch break. I was asked how they could help me. I said "I'm moving to Dallas."

"OH HONEY.... WHY?!?" was the response from the lovely young male make-up artist working the floor. I told him I fell in love with a Texan. And he sighed, grabbed my hand, pulled me over to his work bench, and said "ok, then. let's get to work." And he proceeded to explain the process and required items for doing a full face of make-up, Texas-style. I had no idea what some of those brushes were for, but I do now.

It was funny,  and as much as I grumbled (especially at the credit card charge), it was fun. It was my first step towards assimilation. It was just superficial and I was okay with it. I was teased by everyone in the office but in the end they told me I looked good, even if a little too "Southern." I took it in stride. The nice thing was that my Texan man didn't expect me or ask me to do this; it was my own gesture. He seemed torn too; he liked me for who I was when we started dating, but he had to admit the "prettier" version wasn't so bad at the appropriate times. I figured if the culture here is to step up the make-up a bit, I certainly didn't want to embarrass him or myself by digging in my heels. It wasn't that big of a deal.  Getting rid of my daily ponytails, geek chic glasses, and black midtown office wardrobe has been a little more difficult and I promise that they will not disappear completely. But I admit it is nice to have society's permission to get a little prettied up sometimes. In true Rodgers and Hammerstein fashion, I'm enjoying being a girl.

But the deeper stuff is harder to accept. The jokes are different, the assumptions are different, the tastes are different. What I grew up understanding was "bad" is celebrated; what I understood was universally accepted as "good" is often a punchline. I have moments when my head feels fuzzy and the ground feels shaky and I wonder what rabbit hole I have fallen down and what alternate universe I've woken up in. I am not saying that what I knew and understood before was "right," in fact quite the opposite- I'm questioning my understood reality for the first time in my life and that is what is so hard. The more conservative ways of being and thinking, (and yet more "liberal" way of dressing), the easier, simpler, and slower life, gradually building my own Texan pride with the voice of so many mentors still cracking their jokes about life below the Mason-Dixon line; this is where adapting is hard. I am getting the "who are you now" bitterness from old acquaintances and family members up north who do not like the changes they are seeing. And I'm still teased occasionally here about being a Yankee. So the struggle is constant, and has become part of my daily life.

Right now the pendulum is still swinging dramatically. I go from being determined to remain a New Yorker to my core, to suddenly seeing the negative parts of my Northeast upbringing for what they are. On the flip side I go from being annoyed by the differences here to embracing them and subconsciously completely assimilating, bringing me to momentary states of shock. I suppose the right place to be is the exact place I will end up when this pendulum finally slows to a halt: right in the middle; maintaining my roots but being truly comfortable in my new home. I know I have no plans to leave any time soon and fighting any changes will not do me or anyone around me any good.

I've been here for half a year and have purposely made it a year of new experiences, constantly and deliberately putting myself out of my comfort zone in a wide range of ways, from singing the National Anthem at a sports event to painting my toenails electric blue to learning Mandarin. I will write about all of these experiences in detail when I reach my one year Texas anniversary in November. Right now I'm about to celebrate my first birthday in Texas, and in a few weeks we will celebrate my daughter's.With each milestone I become more deeply rooted here.

This morning in yoga class we learned about Svadhyaya, which means becoming close to oneself through meditation and self-exploration.  It refers to knowing more and more about oneself, intentionally. I laughed to myself during the lesson; I have been in a self-reflective state for eight months now and there is still so much to learn.

Limbo.

“The city. So many lights you can actually pretend one of ‘em’s shining on you.” *

New York is a city that is beautiful in its wickedness. By living here you are automatically subject to a dysfunctional abusive relationship. It mistreats you, ignores you, beats you up daily. And you keep coming back for more.

In general, New Yorkers are unbelievably resilient. We drink too much, sleep too little, work far too hard and stress about absolutely everything. We get knocked down daily and it doesn’t phase us in the least. In fact it’s expected. We pay too much for our lives and rarely if ever take a break. We have to keep moving- it’s our collective coping mechanism. If we stop, we may have to catch a breath, clear our heads and be in the moment, and nothing terrifies us more. There’s always more, better, and to stop means to lose our chance at attaining the unattainable. So we push and push and push until our bodies or our minds reach their breaking point. When we’re forced to acknowledge and accept the reality of our abusive relationship and consider doing something about it. We see the dark circles under our eyes and recognize that our overstimulated lives are killing us. And it’s time to make a choice. Do I stay or do I go?

“Small town girl she comes to town. Tin of rouge and strapless gown. Dies a lot before she gets to die… but with a smile she’ll say, “that’s the low-down down.”*

We are not unaware of the dysfunction. That’s half the reason many of us came here. It’s hard to focus on the little intimate moments of our silly lives when we’re just focused on survival. And we don’t want to focus on the moments. We answer emails at two in the morning, apply our make-up in rattling subway cars or jolting taxi cabs, eat on the run (if at all) and get the heels of our shoes replaced monthly after beating them down on the city concrete and grates. Just. Keep. Running.

“You swim with sharks in shallow pools. You get bit and them’s the rules. I got bit and almost eaten whole. But I liked it.”*

I consider myself one of the lucky ones. New York didn’t chew me up and spit me out the way it does others. There were many rough times but more beautiful moments. Inspiring, awe-filled moments. And I’m leaving on a high note, and not because I have to. 

I was lucky because I met someone who helped me learn how to slow down. On a cool and rainy December day in California almost two years ago, this someone suggested that we take a nap. It seemed like the perfect thing to do. But I had wi-fi withdrawal anxiety and my head was spinning with a to-do list and thoughts about anything and everything. And I made it clear that I. Don’t. Nap. Ever.

But I laid down with him on the big soft couch and read my book, (my third time through The Great Gatsby). I closed my eyes and woke up an hour later- I had actually relaxed enough to fall asleep, even though I hadn’t worked myself to the point of exhaustion. It was a revelation; I know that something changed then. It’s only once you really experience life outside again that you realize how much your city life is destroying you. 

About a year after that initial moment of self-discovery, I made the decision to leave New York. I didn’t know yet where I would go, but I accepted that it was the best choice for me and my daughter. I had a few options in the works and it all just depended on which way the winds would blow. 

"Passion is not so much an emotion as a destiny. What choice have I in the face of this wind but to put up my sail and rest my oars?" ~ j. winterson

In this entry I’ve been referring to New Yorkers as ‘we’. But this is no longer accurate. Early this morning I packed up the last of my things, turned out the lights of my little Queens apartment and locked the door for the last time. At this moment that I am writing this, I’m in limbo. Most of my things are in a storage unit until the moving company can transport them to my new abode. Right now, at this very moment, I am between homes. But in a few more hours, I will start a new life in a new city.

Maybe I’ll start with a nap.

“People like us… lost… and found…”*

* song lyrics from the Broadway musical “The Wild Party”