I was in Washington Square Park last weekend with my friend Tara (some of you may know her from Diabetes Self-Management), her boyfriend and a few of her friends, and my cousin.
I was sitting on the grass, sipping a Mango bubble tea, laughing at embarassing stories and watching all the New Yorkers (and tourists) mingle about in the park.
Jazz music played in the background, juxtaposed by a conservative Christian choir.
The fountain was in full bloom.
And I thought to myself how incredibly lucky I am to have the life that I do.
It’s not very often, I think, that we really stop to reflect on everything we have and everything we’ve experienced and everything we hopefully get to experience.
The past two months have been challenging – emotionally, physically, financially.
From finding a car in three days to starting a new job while living in a hotel to moving three thousand miles and having to practically start over again, I slowly realized that I have what I really need.
There are people all over the country who support me and encourage me. Complete strangers who out of the blue email me to tell me I’m a worthwhile person.
I have a new family that loves me even though they barely know me, including an older cousin whom I fully intend to adopt and torture like the older brother I never had. He’s an only child and I have almost twenty years of sibling experience.
I have a cool job with even cooler people – and I’m not just saying that because they read this. I laugh everyday and it feels so good, especially when I have to go home to an empty apartment.
I live next to a city that has more opportunities than I could ever dream of taking advantage of, and enough material to satisfy my burgeoning obsession with photography for years.
It’s beautiful when you feel like you’re a part of something just by being.
My dad said to me the other night, “Looks like you’re living the life you always wanted.”
“Almost,” I replied.
I never want to feel like I’m finished. I always want there to be something next.
I never want to lose my momentum.
Or my faith that I’ll always be exactly where I need to be, with the people who need and want me.