I’ve lived in NYC longer than anyone I know. That is strange to me. It didn’t used to be like that. Suddenly I’m on the other end of the line, laughing at the bright eyes of the new arrivals, assuring them that if they can make it as long as I have, they’ll see themselves change 10 times over.

Everything moves so damn fast here, I don’t really know anything else. I mean I DO because I’ve been lucky enough to travel to places where the world really feels different. I just can’t seem to get out of the grind. I’m obsessed with fighting it, loving it, obsessing over it, dwelling in it. Because really, NYC is just an extended representation of myself. I can’t get over it, because I can’t seem to get over myself.

I dream of moving to another town. A smaller place where my grandness could be amplified that much more. Go to a place where people just couldn’t get enough of me. I’ve been told Nashville is amazing for music and musicians. I toy with the idea of going to a place where I could learn to drive, be two hours from my mother, have more people willing to work and create.

But then just like an abusive relationship, NYC reels me back in taunting me with the fear of “missing my chance” here. If you can’t cut it here kid, go home. I’d feel like I was losing in some way. In the same moment I feel like I’m missing out by not going to see. People tell me “NYC WILL ALWAYS BE HERE”, and while of course that is true, MY NYC, the one I created will be lost. I fear if I left and found out there was a more beautiful place for me to live, where my heart would tear less, that I’d never return.

Or would I?