I am turning 25, and life is good. Work is fine for now and keeps the heavy wheels of responsibility turning. School is new again and begins to push the brain and creative juices out of hibernation. Personal interactions are frequent and increase the motivation to rise from the wonderful comforts of individual sleep. I am tired.
Life in New York began for me just over four years ago. When asked how I like it, I say a lot. Almost anything and everything I could want is right here, and possibly, only here. Love the diversity. Love the restaurants. Love the art. Love the music. Love the parks. Love the intellectual tension. Love that I don’t need a car. Love independence. Love the list, which goes on. Now that I am here, I could not live anywhere else (while I’m in my twenties at least). No, these ideas are not original or absolute, but yes, they are real and sometimes pump through my veins as if they have been a part of my DNA since I touched down in the Big Apple. And… I am tired.