Farewell, My Love | A Bronchitis-Epiphany of Self Love

If you’ve spent any notable amount of time with me in the last 10 years, you’d know how I feel about New York.

It didn’t take long for me to fall and to fall hard.

A self-proclaimed Brooklyn-girl I’d quickly become, after dragging my suitcase between West Chelsea and East Williamsburg for six months.

Baby, I’d become elated to find any reason to be with you –

if just for a quick weekend

or half of a fashion week.  

I’d cry on every car ride out of the city to the airport –

missing you before I’d even gone.

Back in California, I yearned to be reunited with you, my sweet babe… my darling New York…your streets I could not walk but only float down.

“All I want is a real NYC bagel,” I’d yearn.

“New York taught me how to be a strong-ass independent woman – full of pride and power – who don’t take not crap off of nobody,” I’d fondly reminisce.

New York saved me,” I believed with such certainty.

And then it hit me, while walking through Central Park this week, recovering from one of the worst colds (#bronchitisEpiphany) I’ve experienced in years:

I love you New York, my sweet babe,

but you did not teach me how to be a strong-ass independent woman, full of pride & power.

You did not save me.

I did that. 

Yes, I did that all by my damn self, playboy.  Because I have been a strong-ass independent woman, full of pride & power for a long time before you and will continue to be after.

Your bagels certainly helped, but no amount of specialty carb can truly save someone.

That warmth and magic that I thought was all you, well it was actually coming from me.

So as I am grateful for what we shared and as I will always love you,

I’m not in love with you anymore, baby.

I’m actually finally falling in love with me. ✌

photo of a NYC photo in my California home, by my favorite photographer.

 

 

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