my dad calls it "the no longer, but not yet." it is the space between chapters. the space i am in right now: all packed up, unemployed, and desperate for the distance to reflect on the magnitude of change that i have just signed myself up for.
a tourist in this town i once called home.
<< la liberté éclairant le monde (liberty enlightening the world), or as we know it the statue of liberty, was a gift from france, bestowed upon the united states in 1886. in new york harbor she stands to welcome all visitors, immigrants, and returning americans. >>
in my attempt to see this city as a tourist, i rode the free staten island ferry there and back. as we pulled away from manhattan i imagined that the ferry was taking me to france (what a romantic idea to leave a place by sea, watching its grand skyline dissolve into the horizon). i captured my last visions of the magnificent city on that bright summer day. just as the tears filled my eyes, la liberté came into view. her golden flame sparkled in the sky. a wash of peace rushed over me.
she has stood there for one hundred and twenty-one years and, despite the threat of rising seas, there she will stand until i return.
i have found my greatest obstacle, in leaving a place, is convincing myself that i am not running away. that this is not me surrendering, unable to thrive in nyc, but me embarking on a new adventure at the perfect time. i know in my heart it is the latter, despite whatever it looks like on the surface.
"But you can't just turn your back on all your responsibilities and run away from them," Major Danby insisted. "It's such a negative mood. It's escapist."
Yossarian laughed with buoyant scorn and shook his head. "I'm not running away from my responsibilities. I'm running to them. There's nothing negative about running away to save my life."
my mom says i have a little gypsy in me.
perhaps.
but, one thing i know for sure, is that this is a move to save my life. to run from settling. to embrace la liberté. and i have never felt more alive.
