It seems each year, as Christmas fades into mid-January, I feel compelled to share something poignant from the past year. A lesson, perhaps. One year the inaugural post was more of a long complaining rant than one cohesive anecdote, could have been 2017 or 2018, yikes. Anyways, this burgeoning yearly tradition usually occurs via a blog post at the end of January-ish and includes a few paragraphs offering my groundbreaking recipe for success in the coming year. Then the actual year follows, the dark days of February brighten into the mania of March. Birthday after birthday party begets a celebratory sense that syncs with spring’s looming wedding season. After my birthday in May the angst of summer planning gives way to Memorial Day. June, July and August I often feel are lost months – too warm, too busy, and too little structure for me. Then it’s September and it’s back to reality and routine. Holidays takeover from there, October the first of the festive feasts. After a landslide of logistical maelstroms and several thousand carbs later, Christmas is over and I’m back here again… pinot to my right, a buzzing phone to my left and another 12 months before me.
Each year I seem to start off with a plan only to find myself treading water, the riptide of the passing months leaving me exhausted and unfocused. Don’t get me wrong, there’s always plenty of fun to be had.. but what about that groundbreaking recipe for success? Those things I planned on doing differently, had I actually changed anything? Some years, just getting through was enough. Other years, I felt like a car sliding down a snowy embankment, four bald tires and nowhere to go, my foot pumping a gas pedal over and over. Maybe just getting through the year means you’ve succeeded, I once thought. Maybe if you’re 100. If we’re benchmarking success at age 32, “just getting by” doesn’t exactly translate to the thriving, successful life I had in mind at this stage in the game. Somehow, though, if I could make it look like I was fine on the outside everything would be in the end. Right? Wrong.
Last year began in the same way, with my yearly game plan post (gag). I had high hopes and from the outside (i.e. if one were to peruse my Instagram) it appeared I was succeeding. In reality, however, I wasn’t doing anything different from previous years. Sure, I was working out, my job was great, but my path had not changed. I was still living the same life, in the same home, doing the same things. By the summer I was in the same position as I was the year prior. Stuck, financially overextended, the opposite of thriving. I knew what I had to do but I couldn’t do it. Looking back, I see now that I was just scared. Scared of failing. Scared of leaving the place I called home for almost a decade. Scared of who I’d be without New York behind me.
Well, here we are. There’s a glass of pinot to my right, my phone buzzes to my left and I’m in New York City. But today, I’m writing from the lobby of my hotel. I’m here for work. I no longer live on the Upper West Side. Walking around this afternoon the city seems the same. Fortunately, I’m different. I’m still scared, but it’s a good scared. This year my success won’t be defined by my zip code or geolocation on social media, nor will it be validated by anyone but me. People ask me why I moved, if I miss the city, how I like my new life.
I don’t really have answers to those questions. A new location doesn’t mean a new life. I miss things about the city, sometimes. Tonight, as I ride my hotel elevator, I do not miss the fifth-floor walk-up from my apartment or polar vortex walks with Hudson in four pairs of pants. They say home is where the heart is, and I agree. My home now is in Boston, but it’s also in Palm Springs, Seattle, Salt Lake City, Chicago, Dallas, the Jersey Shore, DC, Australia, and even still in New York. If you know you know. So, here’s to another year in the trenches, but ones that we choose ourselves. For those unforeseen trials, I hope everyone finds the strength to keep going. Cheers to the challenges that make us better in the coming months, the people that keep us going, and the beauty we find along the way. Life is good, don’t forget it.
It seems each year, as Christmas fades into mid-January, I feel compelled to share something poignant from the past year. A lesson, perhaps. One year the inaugural post was more of a long complaining rant than one cohesive anecdote, could have been 2017 or 2018, yikes. Anyways, this burgeoning yearly tradition usually occurs via a blog post at the end of January-ish and includes a few paragraphs offering my groundbreaking recipe for success in the coming year. Then the actual year follows, the dark days of February brighten into the mania of March. Birthday after birthday party begets a celebratory sense that syncs with spring’s looming wedding season.
After my birthday in May the angst of summer planning gives way to Memorial Day. June, July and August I often feel are lost months – too warm, too busy, and too little structure for me. Then it’s September and it’s back to reality and routine. Holidays takeover from there, October the first of the festive feasts. After a landslide of logistical maelstroms and several thousand carbs later, Christmas is over and I’m back here again… pinot to my right, a buzzing phone to my left and another 12 months before me.
Each year I seem to start off with a plan only to find myself treading water, the riptide of the passing months leaving me exhausted and unfocused. Don’t get me wrong, there’s always plenty of fun to be had.. but what about that groundbreaking recipe for success? Those things I planned on doing differently, had I actually changed anything? Some years, just getting through was enough. Other years, I felt like a car sliding down a snowy embankment, four bald tires and nowhere to go, my foot pumping a gas pedal over and over. Maybe just getting through the year means you’ve succeeded, I once thought. Maybe if you’re 100. If we’re benchmarking success at age 32, “just getting by” doesn’t exactly translate to the thriving, successful life I had in mind at this stage in the game. Somehow, though, if I could make it look like I was fine on the outside everything would be in the end. Right?
Wrong. Last year began in the same way, with my yearly game plan post (gag). I had high hopes and from the outside (i.e. if one were to peruse my Instagram) it appeared I was succeeding. In reality, however, I wasn’t doing anything different from previous years. Sure, I was working out, my job was great, but my path had not changed. I was still living the same life, in the same home, doing the same things. By the summer I was in the same position as I was the year prior. Stuck, financially overextended, the opposite of thriving. I knew what I had to do but I couldn’t do it. Looking back, I see now that I was just scared. Scared of failing. Scared of leaving the place I called home for almost a decade. Scared of who I’d be without New York behind me.
Well, here we are. There’s a glass of pinot to my right, my phone buzzes to my left and I’m in New York City. But today, I’m writing from the lobby of my hotel. I’m here for work. I no longer live on the Upper West Side. Walking around this afternoon the city seems the same. Fortunately, I’m different. I’m still scared, but it’s a good scared. This year my success won’t be defined by my zip code or geolocation on social media, nor will it be validated by anyone but me.
People ask me why I moved, if I miss the city, how I like my new life. I don’t really have answers to those questions. A new location doesn’t mean a new life. I miss things about the city, sometimes. Tonight, as I ride my hotel elevator, I do not miss the fifth-floor walk-up from my apartment or polar vortex walks with Hudson in four pairs of pants. They say home is where the heart is, and I agree. My home now is in Boston, but it’s also in Palm Springs, Seattle, Salt Lake City, Chicago, Dallas, the Jersey Shore, DC, Australia, and even still in New York. If you know you know.
So, here’s to another year in the trenches, but ones that we choose ourselves. For those unforeseen trials, I hope everyone finds the strength to keep going. Cheers to the challenges that make us better in the coming months, the people that keep us going, and the beauty we find along the way. Life is good, don’t forget it.
The Dog Hair Diaries 