Breathe

I heart New York.

My New York is not the New York that is typically thought about. My New York is not the big city everyone imagines. My New York does not consist of giant skyscrapers, yellow taxi cabs and people everywhere. In fact it is the exact opposite of that. It is in the middle of nowhere. The only thing that scrapes the sky are the old trees I once named when I was a child (I recall a Bear Tree, a Y Tree, a Pocahontas Tree, and a Witch Tree). The streets are made of pebbles and dirt, with no white or yellow lines, and it's safe to say that I can walk on them during the middle of the day and not run into a single car or person.

I am far away from the life I dream of, even though they both have the same name: New York.

To be honest, when I was younger it use to piss me off that when I said I was visiting New York everyone assumed NYC. When I would tell them that I have been to the state of New York every year since I was a baby but have never been to the actual "New York" they were baffled. Part of me has always wanted to yell: THERE IS MORE TO NEW YORK THAN THE CITY!! But in reality I smile and explain how I would love to go to New York City one day, but for now my New York is a small town far, far away from the concrete jungle.

Coming to my New York is always an arrival of heaven on earth. When I saw my neighbor's wife today, she said to me, "Aren't you just happy to be here? You come here to just breathe!" She has no idea just how right she was.

New York is my escape. Here I have no internet connection, basic television stations, and with minimal cell phone coverage I'm almost virtually disconnected from my life. No facebook. No twitter. No e-mails. And if I get annoyed with my cell phone, I simply turn it off and leave it in the cottage. I come here to get away from everyone and everything. I come here to breathe.

I come here to do nothing. That's right, absolutely nothing. I can walk around or sit and stare at the lake with nothing to do but to observe and think. I take in nature and its beauty. I spend hours upon hours simply staring and unleashing the thoughts I keep tucked away in the deepest corners of my mind. It's the one place where I feel that just being here is not a waste of time. I take in the moment, as simple as it might be. It appears that I am wasting my time, but it is the most useful time I ever spend. Time here is time I need.

I come here to be me. I come here to confront the psychotic nervous-wreck that I am. I think about the things that bother me and I let myself cry without having to worry if anyone is watching. I can scream at God on the beach and know that the waves will muffle the sounds of my anger. I can let myself fall apart. And when I piece myself back together, I can walk around with a goofy grin on my face, and know that no one is staring at me and wondering just how psychotic I really am.

I come here to dream. I come here to stop getting caught up in the things I need to do and let myself drift into the reality of what I'd like to do. I have no homework to worry about, no deadlines or anything due. No work to distract myself with. So I take the time to forget about the stress I have to deal with and remind myself of why I put up with the stress I deal with. I refocus on my goals. I get back in touch with my desires and remember why it is that being a writer, that striving for the Big Apple, and searching for "the one" are the things I want most in life. I feel inspired. I feel motivated. I am rejuvenated. I feel ready to face the world.

I cannot live in my New York. If I did, my perfect world here would be ruined. This is my escape. If I made my life around it, I would be dragging in all the issues and stress that require a "my New York" to get away from. I would go crazy being out here alone. I like the comforts of tall buildings and busy streets. I like being surrounded by people, even if I don't know them. Although it is incredibly refreshing to get away from, deep down I need to feel connected to the world.

In the next couple of years there is a good chance that my New York will be the New York that everyone actually thinks about. There is a good chance that when I refer to my New York, it will not be this nirvana-type place I'm currently in. There is a good chance "my New York" will switch from dreams and confidence to fear, stress, and an over-whelming desire to escape. There is a good chance I can build my life around that New York.

I have been dreaming of living in the Big Apple for a few years, and the closer I get to this dream becoming a reality, the more fearful I become. I'm afraid the city will drain me instead of inspiring me. I'm afraid it will exhaust me instead of rejuvenating me. I'm afraid that this perfect little career in the perfect city called New York will not live up to the high expectations I have set for it. I am afraid of my dream becoming a failure.

I don't know when exactly I will take my first steps in NYC. I don't know if it will be for a visit or for the start of my career. I don't know if I'll be overwhelmed with joy or overwhelmed with stress and fear. I don't know if I'll have a mental meltdown or if I'll strut the streets calm, cool, and collected. I don't know if my dream will turn into reality, or if it will be the letdown I constantly fear. But what I do know is this: Regardless of the outcome, may it be the worst or the best, I can always return to my New York. And breathe.