I was in New York for the last few days. And now I'm home.
It was a great trip, considering how nervous I was in anticipation of it. But, can I just put something out there and you can virtually stone me if you see fit? OK, well, New York? It's just not for me. Granted the last couple of times I've been on business, so I've seen the hell out of the inside of the convention center and random office buildings, and, oh, over-priced hotels. And very little else. But the craziness and the noise and the COST OF EVERYTHING and the people and the neon (my thought: if there isn't a giant casino and free drinks accompanying the blinding neon, I don't actually see the point) and the smells and it's just all too much for me. I want to be tough enough and cool enough to roll with it all but MY GOD WHY ARE YOU HONKING AT ME? THE LIGHT IS RED AND THAT ELDERLY MAN JUST COLLAPSED IN FRONT OF MY CAR. WHERE EXACTLY DO YOU WANT ME TO GO?
So I've said it. I'm not entirely cut out for the city. At least not that city, because other big cities I like. (I feel as if Vegas really gets me and San Francisco, well, who doesn't love that city? Even Dallas and it's incessant desire to make you wait in traffic, no wrecks or construction necessary, is just, simply, a better fit for me.) Maybe that's the point, though. New York seems to harden you (after just two days there I told the Quizno's cashier at LaGuardia airport that her tone was unappreciated), and it also seems to make you stronger, and this country could use some stronger character, I know. (Believe me, I'm the first person to acknowledge the collective craziness of a country that thinks what's-his-name is the best person to represent us and make great big decisions for us and, oh, SPEAK ON OUR BEHALF.) So, the importance of New York and all those H&M stores isn't lost on me. I respect the city and am also in awe of the city. I also understand the city has more to offer than someone can absorb in only a couple days or even weeks (months? years?) and I've been told that if you are going at the city blindly the sense of shear dread you may feel is actually quite normal. Or is that what the nice woman told me so I'd stop hyperventilating on the street corner?
The city is just not my city, and I'm OK with that. I have a place to come back to that is mine and whose loud noises are usually just the fault of a tornado siren or a passing train or the roarings from the local high school football stadium. But we also have the best Mexican food this side of, um, Mexico. And Google our real estate prices.
Oh, and Texas has these guys:
(Feel free to ignore the Santa hat on this July post.)
I will say that this trip made me realize I am—like it or not—an adult. Business trips, getting married, mountains of debt. Adult adult adult. It's overwhelming because becoming an adult seemed to happen overnight. You're under the impression that you have time to make a few more childish mistakes and then—BOOM!—you wake up in a New York hotel, on a business trip, and you realize there's some serious things riding on you not making childish mistakes. And, um, I have more mistakes to make, world! Childish ones at that. Give me back my early twenties and I promise to nap less and screw up more, OK?
Today, though, in the Charlotte airport, I was waiting in line to board the plane when I looked down at my ticket to find my seat number. 20A! A window seat! I did a fist pump, in the air, and also sort of said in a loud voice "AWESOME!" and the lady in front of me turned around, rolled her eyes and sighed.
And this just goes to show you aging isn't a choice, but growing up is, and that man in the picture above will pump his fist in the air with me. He'll yell loudly with me. He'll chastise that rude Quizno's cashier with me. He'll help me pick up all the pieces in case the childish mistakes happen on their own, causing everything to shatter. New York has much more to offer me, I'm sure, in terms of culture, food, shoe shopping, life experiences, but it doesn't have him.
Also, as far as I could tell, Target was no where in sight.