Dear July: I remain unscathed.
It’s August, folks. Which means I survived the dreaded July and made it to August in one piece. It wasn’t without sleepless nights and a few tears, but for what it’s worth, July ended on a high note. I moved to Manhattan.
Here’s a bit of backstory for you:
When I was fifteen years old, I was selected to go to Washington D.C. for JDRF’s Children’s Congress. It was only the second Children’s Congress they had done, and it was pretty exciting for me. My family and I had already visited D.C. a couple years earlier, during the summer I turned thirteen, so my mother (who was accompanying me to D.C.) thought it would be more fun to visit New York City for a few days before the event. JDRF was flying us to and from the East Coast, so all we needed to do was get ourselves from NYC to D.C., which is just a train ride away.
My mother and I stayed at the Roosevelt Hotel in mid-town Manhattan. We went to the Statue of Liberty, we went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, we went to Greenwich Village, and we saw a Broadway play. All in three days! I remember walking around the Metropolitan Museum of Art and seeing the names of all these philanthropists over the doorways to special exhibit halls, because they had donated a ton of money. I told my mom that someday, I wanted to have my name over a doorway in the Met.
I still do…
Anyway, I loved Manhattan. I remember coming out of the Shubert Theater, after having seen the play Chicago, and Times Square was so ALIVE and active and fun, and people were just walking around. It was 11:30 at night and for a girl who grew up in a sleepy bedroom community just outside of Portland, Oregon, the whole thing was quite shocking. But I loved it.
When we left, I told my mom that someday I wanted to live there.
Nearly nine years later, and it finally happened.
Although selling my car was dramatic, and finding an apartment was nerve-wracking, I managed to do both. Stuffing my belongings into storage was a feat I could not have accomplished without my boyfriend. Although my trips to Indianapolis for Roche and Chicago for BlogHer were fraught with excitement and drama, both were rewarding in their own rights and I don’t regret being a part of them.
Moving into my apartment on the Upper West Side was almost a calamity when threats of thunderstorms and flash floods popped up onto my computer screen while I was packing on Friday afternoon. But with Erik and his friend, along with my friend from work, we managed to get everything into the van just as the skies began to clear and a rosy sunset appeared just before dusk.
My new roommates welcomed me as we moved my things into my small bedroom, and Erik and I spent most of Saturday unpacking and organizing, turning the empty, echo-y room into a bedroom. Of course, after having gone to bed at midnight, waking up at 8:30 a.m., and working all of Saturday meant we passed out for two hours in the afternoon. Leaving no time for a bike ride.
August promises to be an exciting month for me, and good kind of exciting. After nearly having a heart attack with stress from fundraising for the Ride to Cure Diabetes, a kind angel from my past (read: high school) donated nearly a thousand dollars to the Ride to Cure Diabetes, pushing me to 75% of my goal. On Wednesday, Erik and I fly to Oregon, my first visit in over eight months and his first trip to my homestate. We’ll celebrate my 24th birthday on Thursday.
At the end of August, I will accomplish one of the more challenging goals on my 101 Things List. At this point, I’m not even thinking distance. If I can do 23 miles, that’s fine with me. The important thing is that I’m trying to do something that many, many people never attempt. Like trying to get their name on the wall of the Met.
(Pictures coming soon! I want to do a bit more organizing before I show the “finished” product.)