I began packing up my apartment last night, and felt a little heartbroken over leaving a room I’ve had a love/hate relationship with the past 4 months. I’d never realized it before, but I might be a slight claustrophobic, and this teeny tiny room drove me absolutely nuts at times. But other times, after a long day at work, the Upper East side felt like home.
I remember last fall, upon returning home from my summer with Marie Claire, feeling like I was in a daze for a few weeks. I was driving, not walking everywhere. I could see where the sky touched the ground, not being blocked by a skyscraper or building. I was sitting behind a cash register at my part-time job, not behind a computer answering a swarm of emails. It’s a weird transition… a little sad not to be in the heart of constant excitement and inspiration, a little relieving to be able to sleep at night minus the humming of nearby honking taxis.
The past 4 months have been some of the best in my life professionally, and leaving that feels scary. Leaving anything here feels scary, even in this teeny tiny apartment. But I’m praying things will just get better from here, and bigger for my claustrophobic’s nerve’s sake.