East 65th.


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. Β 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.

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