I was once told that you know you’re living the dream when you find yourself wearing six inch heels, rocking an all-black outfit and with a venti latte glued to your hand. According to that definition, it looks like I’m living the dream. My days are usually filled with back to back activities – rushing around lower Manhattan to get it all done. My mantra is currently, “up by seven, back home by eleven.”
Today was different.
I usually wake up, grab a cup of tea, and usually stuff all of my belongings for the day into a bag of some kind before heading out the door. Twelve + hours later, I’m back to the small, overpriced, but cute apartment, ready to crash into my bed, however usually find myself staying up to complete an assignment, finish some work, or just decompress from it all. Yes, I enjoy working more than anything, but my down days are the vitamins of my life that keep me going.
Today was different. An interview was rescheduled, work was canceled, and class was not held. IT WAS GLORIOUS. I had nothing to do all day. Being the early bird that I am, I awoke and just sat in complete utter silence. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was at a loss for things to do, people to see, and places to go. I have never felt lazier in my life, but it was much-needed. I didn’t do homework, or my taxes, or even my laundry (like I promised myself I would do). Instead, I went to Trader Joes to get ingredients for my favorite Paleo Chocolate Zucchini Bread. I ended up not being able to find a grater to shred my zucchini, so I made brownies instead but that’s okay. Today was stress-free and beautiful. I lounged around and whimsically decided to get my nails done.
Today I woke up from living the dream. Today, I learned that I am one of those people that thrives under a busy schedule. A rest day, though needed, was hard for me. I didn’t know what to do myself.
Today I realized how incredibly lucky I am to be going to NYU, living in the greatest city, all while chasing my career aspirations. Though the days are long, the work monotonous, and the sleep limited, I am so incredibly thankful I can say I am living the dream. I would have it no other way.
The past two weeks have been CRAZY, but that good sort of crazy that makes you want to smile from ear to ear, despite the lack of sleep and blisters on the bottom of your feet. I’ve been so lucky to have spent some time exploring my city with my cousins, Molly and Kate, and good friend, Kayla. It’s amazing how much I truly don’t know about the neighborhood that I reside in – so much history surrounds me. This post is a quick recap of my weekend spent with my cousins.
Cousins in Time Square
Molly and Kate trekked out from Seattle to see the city for a few days, what ensued was a reunion after years of not seeing each other. Arriving just after New Years, the three of us set out to grab dinner with their Uncle Tim and Aunt Freddi down at Morton’s by the WTC (Thanks Uncle Tim!). I hadn’t seen Tim or Freddi since the 2nd grade, so it was great to finally reconnect and listen to old family stories. I absolutely adore both of them and feel so lucky that I was able to spend a lot of quality time with them over the course of the weekend. All five of us spent the next day shopping down 5th Avenue and in SoHo, making several stops at Barney’s, Bloomingdales, Bendel’s, and Massimo Dutti. Freddi is a shopping queen and has the cutest style – it was so great to go shopping with her and learn from a pro. That afternoon we walked through the slush to a cute little bakery, Sweet Revenge on Carmine Street. It’s an adorable Cupcake Shop that pairs the sweet treats with wines and beers – how cool is that!? We all were pretty shopped out so we decided to head back home for a nap and then meet up again for dinner at Vic and Anthony’s (on 19th and Park). We once again had a fantastic dinner and after hours of chatting (that’s the way dinner should be!), we parted ways. Molly, Kate and I ventured down back to Dempsey’s where we encountered a BudLight party – who would’ve thought? The next morning we grabbed Brunch at Philip Marie’s in the West Village. It was more than I could ask for – great Eggs Benedict and a cozy place to escape from the less than pleasant weather outside. Unfortunately we had to say our goodbyes to both Tim and Freddi that morning, as they needed to return to D.C. for work.
The rest of the weekend the cousins explored New York via Times Square, Central Park, the East and West Village. I don’t think I have ever walked so much in my life – we were averaging 20,000 steps a day according to my brand new Nike Fuelband SE.
Kate and I finding our Irish roots at McSorleys
One Sunday evening, we ventured over to Brooklyn to meet up with one of Molly’s friends from UW and found Momofuku Milk Bar on the way; crossing off an item on Kate’s “To See” list. On our last day we also were lucky enough to get tickets (Thanks Tim!) to see the WTC memorial. Talk about a thought-provoking and inspiring place to visit.
It was so sad to see both Molly and Kate leave for Boston, but I’m so glad I got to hang with them. Hopefully they’ll be back sooner than later.
Nothing is better than some play-by-play action of my flights back to New York, not that my Twitter feed isn’t interesting or anything, right?
Have Suitcase, Will Travel
3:33 PM – So I’m already 3 minutes later than I would like to be on my journey back to the Big Apple, but hey, it happens. Just said goodbye to Sibel, Jesse, Jenni, John, Kenta, Shelby, Nani, Petey, and the family and am now off to the airport.
4:05 PM – Just checked into the commuter terminal to LAX and GUESS WHAT? MY BAGS ARE UNDER 50LBS! I really do think this goes down in the record books as an achievement as Meg the Packing Princess usually is over by 25 pounds.
4:17 PM – Bags are checked, just said goodbye to mom, and now through security. Love the commuter terminal – no lines, no hassle and the sweetest people ever. I got my seat moved up to the Bulkhead on my next flight and am pretty stoked about that, as well.
4:58 PM– Commence texting everybody in my phone about how much I miss them. Yikes, this is what happens when you put your emotions out there?
5:11 PM – Time to board the plane. We are flying a tiny 30-seater plane and we take off in about 20 minutes. It was actually pretty cool to walk out on the tarmac to the plane and I just sort of twirled around and took in the beauty of everything around me for the last time: the radiating sun, the fresh smell of the salt-water bay, the picturesque palm trees bouncing in the light wind, the booming noises of the airplanes around me. So this is what living in paradise is like.
5:52 PM – Just landed in LA. Well, that was quick! Can’t really argue with a 27-minute flight, can you? Have to go pick up my bag off the tarmac and transfer to the main terminal and chill out for the next couple of hours. YIPEE.
6:19 PM – Picked up Anthony and Cleopatra. I think I was supposed to read that for soccer, but does buying it count for anything?
6:38 PM – Time for dinner and the only thing in this terminal is a Sammy’s Wood Fired Grill? Guess I will have to settle, so I grab a seat at the bar because lord knows ordering a table for one is just incredibly depressing and reminds me that I am all alone again.
6:41 PM – Commence creepy server guy commenting on my “Legs of Steel” and how they would be awesome at skull crushing. SAY WHAT? I’m all for making new friends but, eww, get away from me.
6:43 PM – I order a grilled chicken with kalamata olive and grilled pepper pesto wrap. Yum (I hope).
6:52 PM – I scarf down my wrap because for some strange reason I am hungry beyond belief.
7:10 PM – Pay for my food and head to the magazine rack. Flip through some issues of Shape and Men’s Health and reminisce of my times at FQ10. Begin to get emotional, slap myself with a slice of pizza (just kidding) and head over to the seating area. TWO HOURS UNTIL BOARDING. UGHH.
7:19 PM – Begin to fill out paperwork for soccer, register for health insurance for London, and as my old boss used to say, GSD.
7:31 PM – Walk around the terminal to find a working outlet. None to be found. What is wrong with this place?
7:51 PM – Grab a Veinte iced coffee from Starbucks because lord knows I need one before getting on a red eye. NOT.
8:00 PM – Plop down on a chair, open my laptop and begin to put thoughts on paper because that is the only thing that seems relieving at the moment. I still can’t believe I won’t be back until December. Am I ready for this right now?
8:58 PM – Pack my bag up as they begin to call first class for AA Flight 10 from LAX to JFK.
9:01 PM – Board the plane and find out that I’m sitting next to this awesome girl and her dog named Rupert.
9:04 PM – Begin to chat with aforementioned seat-mate and begin to fall in love with Rupert.
9:11 PM – Rupert farts. No joke. WOULD I LIE TO YOU?
9:30 PM – Flight begins to taxi away from the terminal. Goodbye California.
9:44 PM – Pull out laptop again and commence writing my life away. Typical right?
12:14AM (PST) – Computer has 7% battery and I begin to realize I might want to sleep before getting to New York. Damn it I shouldn’t have had that huge coffee.
4:58 AM(EST) – Wake up as the plane begins to descend over Long Island. A rolling fog clouds my view but I don’t seem to care because I’m finally back.
5:14 AM – AA flight 10 lands safely and taxis to terminal 8.
5:52 AM – My bag is the last to come out of the belly of the plane but the thought of not knowing where to go makes it all okay. I contemplate telling the taxi driver where to go.
6:08 AM – Hop in a cab and stutter for a quick sec where to go. The 8 months I spent away from my city is obvious. I can’t seem to remember my cross streets or which bridge I prefer to go over or even my favorite radio station. Is it Mercer and Bleeker or Mercer and Houston? Welp. This is embarrassing.
6:31 AM – Arrive at 181 Mercer Street. Realize the gym doesn’t open for another hour. Plopped myself down outside the door.
7:03 AM – Realize that it is in fact Sunday and the gym doesn’t open until 9AM. Contemplate getting THINK COFFEE and then realize that they don’t open for another hour either.
7:15 AM – Two awesome NYU security guards let me into Coles and carry my stuff to the couches. Oh the perks of making friends with the guards.
If you know me well enough, you probably already know that I’m not very good with feelings or making monumental life decisions or even just saying goodbye. I deal with feelings by storing emotions in the deep dark, pit of my soul, slap on a smile, and wait until the very last moment to be true to myself and to those around me, almost to the point where the feelings themselves become irrelevant. Instead of wearing emotions on my sleeve, I bear a big toothy grin as if it’s the only thing my face knows how to wear. I don’t know if it’s some innate thing I’ve just done because I am a “people pleaser” or what, but it’s been something I’ve been working on for awhile, and slowly but surely I’m getting better at being honest with my feelings and myself. I’ve been learning how to feel again and quite honestly it’s been harder than I thought. This past summer, however, something changed; my friends and coworkers taught me that when all else fails, when my emotions overwhelm you, to just follow my heart. Ignore the warning flags, just go for what your heart desires, and LIVE.
Living in, arguably, two of the most materialistic and superficial states in the U.S., I am used to measuring my success on the amount of money in my bank account, how many friends I had, and the amount of likes I would get on any particular social media post. I had complete disregard for my feelings and only focused on reaching the next milestone in my athletic and academic career. Old Meg didn’t care about her feelings, much less for other’s either. I was a train wreck waiting to happen. I figure it was only a matter of time before I fell into a crashing flood of emotions and had to take a break from everything. So I decided to follow my heart, because my determined self was not about to about to let “all else fail”.
Since this massive realization, I’ve come to accept that it’s best to just follow your heart even if it does make you vulnerable. I know I am not good at asking for help, much less being the vulnerable one, but it’s something worth working on. On the flip side of following my heart, I know I’m happiest surrounded by high energy, goal-oriented, young-at-heart people who have a passion for living their life to the fullest. I’ve learned that life is better spent laughing over spilt milk, rather than crying over it. And I’ve learned to love my flaws, the mistakes I’ve made and every single quirky thing I do, because if you can’t accept them yourself, no one else will.
This past weekend, I had to say goodbye to the people who helped me realize that I had to follow my heart to do anything worthwhile, and I couldn’t help but get emotional. To put it in Meg terms, vulnerable. This summer, I learned to follow my heart and be true to those around me. I learned to tell people I loved them, to actually tell people how I felt, and began to find my passion in the sports world. I know that if I continue to follow my heart, our paths will cross again but I couldn’t help but tear up as I boarded the 777 to JFK this evening.
My journey is far from over, but this is to learning how to follow my heart and living life to the fullest (with every ounce of emotion worn across my face).
It’s a mid Friday afternoon. Rain is pouring down (by my California standards) and the tips of my Sperry Top Siders are soaked. My roommates are gone for the weekend – two are in Barcelona, while my third roommate is out and about in Madrid, showing her two friends around our beloved city. I am alone at a café – the first café in Spain I ever went to actually- sitting at a
table with my cappuccino, contemplating getting a crêpe but then I remember the lack of Euros in my wallet. Heck, why not. I’m broke as it is and it’s the perfect day for crêpes and people watching. I have the perfect view of the street – the two large glass doors sit in front of me and my eyes wander to the wonderful wet world outside.
A runner passes by in his bright neon orange shirt and yellow shoes, scuttling away at a casual pace up the hill towards Atocha. A story plays out in my head – he lives with his wife and two kids – a boy, 13, and a girl, 9. Probably a business man, a casual runner, and enjoys a nice whiskey at night. A pair of foreigners sit next to me – speaking in a heavily accented English I can’t quite decipher, sipping each on a café con leche, reminiscing of their youth summers spent somewhere in England. A woman in her late thirties strolls by pushing a stroller, likely a young baby girl wrapped up inside, judging by the pink blankets peeking out from underneath the umbrella. Nothing out of the usual. Spain you’re boring me – Where are the people running to and from the train station as if their life depended upon it? Where are the crazies? Where are my people?
People watching has come to be one of my favorite activities in New York – where else in the world do you have access to individuals as eccentric and as electric and as stubborn and as, well, New York? (Yes, I did just use “New York” as an adjective – you’d only understand if you’ve lived here). Where else can you find a woman dressed in all black, standing tall in five-inch stilettos, sipping on a latté, with three hours of sleep under her belt, living the dream? You simply can’t. Nowhere else in the world will you find people as happy to be killing themselves as you will in New York. They work 70-hour weeks, find time to go out at night, and pay more than a small fortune for a shoebox of an apartment. But they’re living in the Big Apple – hoping, dreaming, wishing that their dream of becoming the next big Broadway star or Wall Street exec will come true. They feign the excitement of working for an asshole and getting next to nothing in return. I guess it’s just part of being a New Yorker.
You will never feel more alone than you do in a city of millions – that much is true. But while living in New York, you’re part of something bigger than yourself, an unspeakable bond unites us – the aspiring actresses, the recent college grads, the wannabe big shots. We eat dollar pizza, not because it’s good, but because it’s a dollar. We go early to clubs so we don’t have to pay a cover. Yet, we will spend $300 on a pair of fabulous heels, because appearance is everything – it’s part of the never-ending illusion of being a New Yorker. But here, in Madrid, in a country more friendly than your creepy neighbor in apartment 2C, in a city where the taxi cabbies smile at you and the men buy you drinks without a second thought – you are more alone than you think. It’s not that you lack friends – the other study abroad students, the foreigners, the Madrileños just don’t understand. There is no mutual understanding of “struggling to make it”– everybody is relaxed, moving at a snails pace, eating dinner for hours on end as if there was nothing else more important in the world. In a country where the conversation is as important as the food on the table, I’m at a loss for words with those around me.
I feel the word lonely is used to describe somebody lost and by themselves – in a somewhat unhappy state, unaware of their own being. And while, yes, I am alone by pure definition of the word; I cannot feel any more aware of myself in this present moment. Nothing screams struggling writer like a twenty-something year old, sitting alone at a Café, sipping on a coffee, dressed in an oversized cream sweater from Urban Outfitters, with a messy bun on top of her head. All she’s missing are some large D&G glasses, a pencil behind her ear and a notebook in an overused black Longchamp. I’m watching myself, aware of my own being, aware of the stares as I type away feverishly. I am aware of my appearance as a New Yorker – jaded, opinionated, and unimpressed of everything around me as I people watch outside the large glass windows.
I first began to refer to myself as a New Yorker when I moved to Spain to study abroad. Every time my Mom skyped me, she would ask if I was home sick? My answer, without fail was – “Yeah, I miss New York terribly”. The disappointment on her face yielded an equally disapproving response in her eyes – “It’s my home, Mom, you’d never understand.” Her only reply “New York has changed you”. Living in the city transformed me from a carefree and laidback California girl to an uptight, busy young adult, whose life is dictated by the calendar appointments in my iPhone. Similar to the bright lights of Times Square – my life in New York is simply an impressive façade. My newfound beauty routine hides my lack of sleep and the slew of friends who pose for pictures with me at clubs usually forget about my existence by the weekends end. I appeared to be a New Yorker on the outside and tricked myself into thinking the same.
I haven’t even lived a full twelve months in the city, yet, when I meet people, I find myself telling them I’m from New York. Spaniards are instantly mesmerized – a bit confused as to why I would ever leave the mystique that is New York, but so am I. Leaving the city has made me realize how much of a New Yorker I am not, but I guess to become one you have to leave and appreciate everything that the city is. The more I realize the way I act and eat and dress and drink and fill-in-the-blank here, the more I realize how much the essence of being a New Yorker is the illusion of having it all together. And while I am rather composed on the outside, I cannot even begin to fit the puzzle pieces together on the inside. A true New Yorker knows what they want and when and are not afraid to tell anybody about it. I, on the other hand, do not know what I want, let alone know who I am. I just know I am not a New Yorker. Not yet anyways.
Quote of the Day: ” One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years” – Tom Wolfe
It’s day like yesterday which make me feel as if I’m standing still, and the entire world is moving a million miles a minute around me. I blink my eyes once and the world stops. I blink my eyes again and I’m surrounded by a cloud of people in Union Square. I wake up, have class, work out, work, eat dinner, do some homework, and before I know it, I collapse into my twin sized bed. The routine never fails me, except for now. The routine has me programmed to do what I know, not what I need. I need time. I need adventure. I need freedom.
Looking back, this semester has passed faster than the speed of light. Though the hands of the clock ticked by oh so slowly, and as a collective, the past few months have flown by. Soccer evaporated quicker than dew on blades of grass on a warm summer day and hours spent with friends seemed only like seconds. I’m going home in less than 13 days, and while yes I am beyond ecstatic to be back on the west coast, the thoughts of saying goodbye to New York for eight long months is devastating.
Gonna miss this crazy lifestyle
While on the topic of time, it’s crazy/weird/unimaginable to think that I’ll be TWENTY (yes, twenty Mom and Dad) in less than two months time. I’ve been told by way more than people than I can recall that my twenties will be memorable to say the least – a time to make mistakes, forge friendships, and simultaneously be reckless and responsible (is that even possible?). That being said, I need to get down to business on my twenties list... I have less than two weeks to: visit all 5 boroughs in one day, go to Ellis Island, possibly donate blood through NYU, and see a Broadway play (If anybody has any recommendations, let me know as I am completely clueless when it comes to that sort of thing). If I do those four things by the time I get home then I’ll be nearly half way done with my list, which makes it that much more attainable.
The next week I’ll be bogged down with things to do, tests to study for, and people to see but the last three days I’m in the city are my “free day”. I can’t wait to explore the city and say my goodbyes. The past few months have been so surreal and I know that I will definitely be leaving a part of my heart in New York City when I head back home to San Diego and then off to Spain.
Stay tuned for a couple of holiday-themed posts to get in you in the mood for the season 🙂
Disclaimer: Sorry for not posting in such a long time. So much has happened, and I have been just struggling to keep my head above water recently. I just wanted to say that I’m okay and give a recount of what has happened the past week in NYC. I’ve been thankful enough to find warmth and shelter the past few days but there are still thousands without power that need help and prayers. P.S. This will be a super long post so best prepare yourselves!
The past two weeks have been utter and total chaos – both good and bad. As I’m sure everybody has heard, Hurricane Sandy hit the East Coast pretty badly. On Sunday night, after we dominated and destroyed Emory (story to follow), we were told that school on Monday was canceled because of the impending hurricane. To say that we were beyond excited was an understatement. We boarded the bus, giddy with excitement and rode back into the city – proud of our accomplishments and stoked for our extra day off of school and soccer. That night, in typical women’s soccer fashion, we locked ourselves in a room (don’t ask), sangbelted out to the tune of Mariah Carey’s “Always Be My Baby” and joked about the Frankenstorm that had made our weekend so much better – man were we wrong.
Closures Left and Right
The following morning (Monday), I woke up and headed out to meet my Dad at one of the few diners that was open in the city. Even though the storm had yet to hit the city, everybody had closed up shop, including Starbucks. I found myself on the corner of 6th and 18th at Hollywood Diner, ready for my day off with my Dad. Though I didn’t have an appetite, I forced down some fruit and toast, knowing that I’d be on my feet all day and I would need energy later in the day. We walked around Manhattan despite the blistering winds and torrential downpour and wound up at McSorley’s – my Mom’s favorite Irish bar (If you’re ever in NYC I highly recommend it).
Dad at McSorleys Before It Closed
The rest of the day was sort of shot, considering we were both exhausted – me from my game, and my Dad from his international travel – we decided to retreat to the hotel. That night was fun, just catching up and chilling out, and we were about to watch some MNF and chow down on some Chinese delivery food when the…. wait for it… POWER WENT OUT. Yes. The power in New York went out. I was besides myself. Though I knew that the storm had the possibility of knocking out the power, I was stupid ignorant and believed that it was highly unlikely. It was one of the most surreal moments in my life. I pulled back the curtain to see the entire skyline blacked out (except for Freedom Tower – minutes later it was out as well). After reassuring my family back home that we were safe, I turned my cell phone off to conserve battery and fell asleep – hoping that this was simply a bad dream and that the power would return once I woke.
The only lights were that of cars
Much to my despair, the power was not on when I awoke on Tuesday. My Dad was unable to fly back to California and the future was looking pretty bleak. After we gathered our things, we decided to make our way to my dorm blocks away to see if they had power. Unfortunately for us, my dorm was without power, water AND sewage. I grabbed some clothes for the day with my Dad and then headed back up to 24th street. We soon found out that everything south of 26th street was without power and would be for a few days so I called my teammate Phebe, told her to pack her things, meet up with us and go explore the city. We walked around for hours, taking in the destruction – it was unreal. Our practice field was ruined, and downtown New York City was flooded beyond belief. It was hard for me to see my beautiful city torn and tattered.
Our Beloved Field
We returned to our hotel hours later, determined to get another room somewhere with power and water. After calling what seemed like 50 hotels, including the very expensive yet enticing Plaza, we were told that everything was full. We decided to make reservations for the following night art a Marriott uptown anyways so we had a back up plan for the 31st. We then trekked up to the hotel in midtown, camped out to charge our cell phones and laptops and continued to harass ask the front desk if there was anything available. By the time I had gone down to the front desk a third time (with my biggest puppy eyes), we had decided to try the nearby Cornell club. After being turned down by them too, we stopped at a final hotel to use the bathroom and ask if they had a room to spare. By this point, I was going delirious, muttering under my breath “I hate Sandy. I hate being homeless” over and over again. While sitting in the hotel lobby of the luxurious Sofitel Hotel, I couldn’t help but notice that a) Phebe and I were scrubbing it hard core in our matching tights and north faces and b) my Dad was taking forever. We both looked at each other, began contemplating the odds that we had gotten a room, and before one of us could utter a single room my Dad returned with two keys held above his head. I swear, I thought he was gonna start dancing Gangnam Style. Our day was turning up.
We waltzed up to our hotel room on the 22nd floor and embraced in the biggest hug ever. We were no longer homeless and without power and water. The hotel was super fancy but what made things that much better was the fact that there was running water (we could finally take a hot shower) and could charge our phones with worrying about saving battery. We snuggled into the oversized twin beds (like who the heck has twin beds in a hotel?) and fell asleep after dinner. Before I closed my eyes to sleep, I thanked God for watching out for all of us and prayed for all of those without power.
On Wednesday morning, we awoke and headed back to Carlyle to get more supplies from our rooms. The night before we were told that school was canceled for the rest of the week, and due to the lack of electricity they were evicting everybody from the dorms. Luckily for us, we had a room at the Marriott Marquis (thanks Dad!) but others were forced to see refuge with friends or family in the area or at Kimmel – a multipurpose building down in Washington Square. Once we checked into the Marquis, we dropped our stuff off and decided to grab some breakfast next door at Juniors. We spent the rest of the day in the hotel, catching up on homework, facebooking and enjoying each others’ company. That night, Pheebz and I decided to unstress by shopping so we went to American Apparel, got some cool scrunchies and some American themed clothing (for my Halloween costume). We decided to meet my Dad at a local Irish place in Hells Kitchen and chowed down on some delicious Irish grub and dessert. Though the Shepard’s Pie did not quite meet my Dad’s standards, it was a great way to end his extended stay in the city.
In Total Disbelief
On Thursday my Dad left us for California. Although I was sad to say goodbye to him, I’m happy he was able to get back to the sanity of California. My other teammate, Leslie, joined Phebe and I soon after he left and we continued to hang out, work out, and contemplate life’s true meaning.
In wake of this terrible storm I’ve reflected on everything I’ve been given and realize how lucky I truly am. Only time will tell at how long this recovery will take but I am just eternally thankful for my friends safety and the kindness of New Yorkers in wake of this terrible disaster.
UPDATE: As I write this post, I’ve been notified that power has been restored in parts of Lower Manhattan (only East Village though).
We made it! Sorry for not posting earlier – I think I was just so gosh darn excited to be back In my old stomping grounds. As soon as we arrived, we grabbed our bags and hopped In a taxi ( which to my surprise was a lot more expensive than driving in from JFK). Once we got to our lovely hotel we decided to walk around and grab some dinner. I took my mom to my favorite Italian restaurant, Arturos, which Is on Houston street and indulged in some very tasty salad, pasta and of course bread. After that we walked of our dinner and I showed my mom Washington Square Park, Union Square and parts of the East Village. We ended at a cute little Irish Pub on 2nd Ave called Dempseys where we toasted to adventuring in NYC.
We’re off to explore some more today – here’s some pictures from last night!
GOOD MORNING WORLD! Hope everybody’s day has gone off on the right foot. I received a lot of positive responses about live blogging my trip to Indy so I’m going to do the same on my way to New York. My day has been pretty swell so far (granted I haven’t sat next to any oversized smelly men yet). I woke up oh so effortlessly at o’dark thirty and quickly added more stuff to my overstuffed bag (in typical Meg Patten style). Once we hopped in the car and Twist dropped us off at the airport, my Mom and I were notified that one of my bags was eight pounds over while the other was eight pounds under – I know what you’re thinking – how amazing of a packer are you to exactly measure out the differences between the two bags? I don’t know but somehow I’m the queen of packing ( coronation will be on Sunday for any who would like to attend).
Anyways I’m about to board but just wanted to add a smiley picture to brighten up your day 🙂
It’s late Saturday night and I’m sitting in my very neat, packed-up room, lying on my bed, wondering – will this be the last time I get to do this? And by “this” I mean – spend a summer with my family, friends and of course, my two favorite dogs. Is this my last summer at home? Is this what growing up is like? Is this the end of an era? It’s definitely a question worth asking and definitely a question that will be the root of many future discussions.
With only a day and a half left until I leave for New York, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I’ve been pondering my career goals and life aspirations, my successes and failures, but most importantly my current state of being. Simply said, I’ve been thinking about my past, present and future.
I was raised to be extremely independent and have grown used to operating on my own this past year; as a result, this summer has been anything but normal (for lack of a better word). The incessant pressures to act the same way as I did before college mounted higher than ever and the repetitive questions of “How was your season?” and “How do you like NYU?” just added sticks to the fire. Summer, for whatever reason, turned more into a job than a break from the constant rush of the city.
Coming back home to San Diego has definitely been a learning experience this summer and the learning curve has been very steep. Throughout the Summer I’ve compared stories with teammates and friends, and I’ve found one thing to be certain – coming home isn’t easy, but that doesn’t make leaving any easier.
This summer has been filled with a ton of great experiences including: my family visiting from around the world, a trip to Indiana, friends hanging out, road trips up to Los Angeles, and of course lounging on the boat. But New York is calling my name and is bound to be nothing short of craziness, a fast-paced lifestyle and my much needed dose of some “me” time to figure it all out.
Yes, I love San Diego and everything it has to offer, but I felt like I have come to the crossroads of my childhood and my future adulthood and I must take the next step into my life. As much as my parents don’t like it they need to realize it’s all part of me growing up. My independent side is yearning for adventure and quite honestly, I’m stuck here. I’ll be back in the Winter, for a few shorts days, perhaps even a few weeks, but the time has come for me to spread my wings and fly away from here.
Goodbye San Diego, you’ve been great. Next stop New York City.
