The other day I was browsing online to check the prices on some airline tickets. I am preparing for my first trip back to New York in nearly six years. I couldn't be more excited about how close I'm getting to that visit. I miss that place everyday and think about how my life would be if I were already there.
As I perused the various discount ticket sites, something occurred to me: In my twenty years alive I have always looked up round-trip airline tickets, yet nearly a year from now I will be searching for my very first one-way ticket. For some reason, just the thought of it got me excited... and a little nervous. I mean, people take vacations for weeks, but they always come back home. It occurred to me that I would be taking the biggest trip of my life--with no intention of returning home.
As exciting as this concept is, I realized that no matter how much I want to go, I'll never be prepared to leave. I don't think I will ever feel completely secure in the idea that I'm branching out alone in the world to make my way in a city that I don't really know the first thing about. I mean, I know the basics: it's expensive, it's competitive, it's ever-changing...but do I really know what the heck I'm about to get myself into?
As I sat back and watched my brain try desperately not to explode, I thought of who I was... or at least who everyone has seen as me. I'm a little Californian blonde who has only lived on my own for about three months before I decided to move back home. I have worked many jobs, but have yet to find one that qualifies as my true passion. I thought to myself about the world's perception of me and who I truly am and it occurred to me that there was a difference.
I may still be young, but now I'm a little girl with big ambitions. I realized that now matter how intimidating things get, I won't let it stop me. This dream has given me such purpose and drive in life; I could never abandon it.
Most people I tell about my goal seem to expect that I don't have a clue what I'm getting into and while some of that statement could be considered true, I still feel grossly underestimated. You see, I'm not going because I think living there is going to turn out like some rom-com movie. I'm going there to work hard and achieve my dream--I am passionate about writing, so what better place would I go to for a career in journalism? Nevertheless it seems that no matter how hard I try to explain what I expect of this city, I still end up backed into a corner with a finger wagging in my face as if to say, "Don't overestimate yourself, little girl."
Why is it that being young automatically qualifies me for the Foolish Olympics? I know that being twenty and "in college" puts me in a certain category, but I also know that I have never in any way fit there. I may have had my stint as a college sorority girl, but I grew up and became who I am now--responsible, determined, and thick-headed. Why should I let the rest of the world tell me who I am when I know damn well they are wrong?
So as I contemplate my looming one-way ticket to a life I can't wait to live, I am stubborn. I will be who I know I am: a writer who is out to live her passion... and the only way to get there is to find just the right time to take that one-ticket to the bank--or you know, the airport.
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