A New Window

I left Manhattan. I set a deadline for myself and when the time came, I walked away. Well, technically, I was driven away, huddled in a chilly heap at the edge of my mattress in the back of a van with the stupid knotted stomach I always have whenever I’m stuck in a car. Most of me was ready to leave, stoked, I'd even say, but a significant enough part of me was apparently not, as evidenced by the fact that I threw 80% of my belongings haphazardly into boxes in the last few days.

The world seemed like it could have been a touch more cooperative on the big day, what with wet snow falling steadily from the time we started loading the van to the time we pulled off the slushy highway more than two hours later. It was a safe journey, so maybe I have it all wrong and the world was actually quite kind to my needs that day. All I know for sure is that I annoyed the hell out of the people who stuck by me to pack at the eleventh hour. Not my proudest moment that was. Maybe we can laugh about it in say, another twenty years. Or, never. That’s a good possibility, too.

Right now, I’m trying to figure out what’s best for me. This thing called life isn’t supposed to be hard or unhappy, but that’s what it’s felt like, which is what prompted this move. They say that everything is a choice, from the way you feel, the way you manage your feelings, down to the very essence of who you are. I can see the truth in that. I just have one question: what happens when you aren’t sure which choice is meant for you?