So, I left my life. Basically. Job, apartment, city, friends, even my bed. Two weeks into whatever this is and I don't feel I'm any closer to figuring what whatever this is. Not that I thought I'd know by now. But I do think maybe the significance of what I've done is starting to sink in.
Sticking to my own rules, I'm not going to recount my last days in New York. Is it enough to say that they were fun-filled and tear-soaked and brutal? And then I left. It's all the stuff that comes next I hope to chronicle here.
day 1 (saturday, september 12th)
It was my intention to leave with only a backpack; I'd been planning it that way in my head for months. In the end, I didn't manage it. There was the backpack (heavier than I'd imagined) and another small bag. I tried to rationalize with myself that there were things in that extra bag which needed to be left with my sister. Why I couldn't leave them with C, I'm not sure. My sister has a house and C has an apartment. So I guess I can write it off as a space issue, but what was more likely going on was my reluctance to let go of those few extra things. Just so you know, 6 weeks before this, on the day I moved out of my apartment, I had 5 extra bags, the contents of 4 which were given away or tossed in the trash. And never missed.
During the short walk to the X27 bus from Bay Ridge to Manhattan, I realized the magnificence of my backpack. It was heavy, but easily handled on my shoulders. Until I went to take the first BIG step into the bus; I nearly fell backwards when my balance was compromised. The driver and I (but mostly the driver) had a laugh and he wondered aloud to me why I wasn't hiking into Manhattan. I told him the thought had crossed my mind. And it had. And then it flew right out again.
After that brutal week, I'd prepared myself for a full day of crying throughout my journey from Port Authority to Providence. I was wearing sunglasses on a rainy day and had a stash of tissues in that extra bag. They were wasted. I wasn't sad to be leaving. As Greyhound carried me north, I mostly stared out the window and felt relieved. Of the stress of worrying about and explaining this idea of mine. Of all the those things I'd left behind that didn't really matter any more. Of all the things I was ready to leave. And of the girl I was when I'd come to New York, 15 years earlier.
That was one l o n g bus ride, but it was the cheapest I could find. I arrived at my sister's empty house and made myself right at home. S & J (my brother-in-law) have always made me feel welcome, but the fact that they would be out of town for the next week made me all the more comfortable. I dropped my bags on the kitchen floor, where they'd remain until the morning of their return, and opened the door to a fully-stocked fridge. Choosing a room was my next task. D (my niece) has a big bed and a full length mirror in her room. T (my nephew) has a small bedroom with a twin bed, cable tv and a bathroom 2 steps away. He wins. Or loses, should he chose to come home from college for the weekend.
And it is in that bed I would spend the next 18 hours or so. Watching that cable tv and phoning C (my best friend), who I'd left that morning. All the while feeling pretty great to be starting this new chapter. And then I woke up Sunday morning.
More catch-up to come tomorrow.
