Sometimes I spiral into obsessive thoughts and can’t make a fucking decision. That was basically the entirety of this week. The moments captured below were the few instances I tried to zen out or be present. Grateful. Calm… Sadly— get this— it was remembering that I had to take a picture every day in order to fulfill my bullet journal goal (of capturing 365 moments of zen), that forced me to pause the reel of what-ifs playing on repeat in double time in my mind (and yes, the rambling nature of this sentence should give you an indication of what it was like to live inside my head this week).
Let me repeat that: It was my obsessive need to check off a listed item in my bullet journal that made me shut up the back and forth my mind was incessantly spiraling through. In other words, my obsessiveness was the only thing that stopped my obsessiveness.
The question: To take the job in NYC or not to take the job in NYC.
Sunday
At first, for anyone who knows me, it might seem like a no-brainer. NYC is something I’ve always wanted. I love its energy, and who I am inside feels more consistent with the life I could lead there.
But, as I’ve discovered in the past year or so, I am not one thing. I am not one role, one interest, one belief. I contain friggin’ multitudes, people. And I’m not the same person I was ten years ago. I don’t want to move to New York any less than I did back then, but I want to stay a hell of a lot more.
I love the idea of a small, cozy apartment, corner cafe vibes, and the anonymity the city affords you. The freedom. Walking and taking the subway to work every day. The accessibility of plays and musicals, local venues, good eats, author events, dance classes… the list goes on…
But I also love quiet evenings and morning hikes. Beautiful sunrises over mountains and sunsets over lakes. Collecting seashells and rocks on the beach. I love waking up to the sound of birds, having a room to display all my books, and sitting on my back porch writing while listening to the sound of the rain.
Monday
Some of those things— mountain views and beaches— aren’t here. But living here affords me the chance to travel to those places more frequently.
And the people here. I love the people here. I’m realizing they’re much more important to me than I’d thought. I am truly grateful for some of the humans in this little corner of the world.
First there are my parents. Though living near them has never been a necessity for me, it is a comfort.
And there’s Nick and Ashley and their garage (and their neighbor’s cat)… Ashley’s yoga classes filled with people I appreciate, and my chiropractor appointments with Nick that are such a joy even though they’re painful.
There’s Amanda…
Tuesday
Who still plays PokemonGo LOL, but— more importantly— PLAYS WITH MY HAIR… who brings me pickled veggies from her mom and takes me to my infusions in Albany.
There’s Aung. There’s Allie and Jess. One weekend a month with Taranne, walks with Kath, and visits from all the neighborhood animals.
Wednesday
Then of course, there’s the COVID of it all to consider. And my stupid diagnosis.
I’ve always believed you have to live for today with the possibility of tomorrow. You can’t spend all your money in one day knocking off a bunch of items from your bucket list, because then you’ll have no way of surviving tomorrow. But you can’t save all your money for tomorrow, either. Because then today won’t matter— the concept of today won’t matter. You’re not actually living your life, so tomorrow won’t matter either.
That philosophy has served me well. It’s sometimes a struggle to strike the right balance, though, and that struggle increased tenfold when I got my diagnosis. I don’t know yet how to approach living for today with the possibility of tomorrow now that I have this thing (this thing being Neuromyelitis Optica).
I don’t love talking about my diagnosis— or even thinking about it. But the truth is, I’m looking at a future with some pretty serious issues. It’s possible that I go years without incident, but it’s also possible that I have another episode tomorrow. And if that happens, it is extremely likely I will have some sort of permanent loss of function, probably in my legs. I have large lesions all down my spine; every neurologist I’ve spoken to is shocked I don’t already have trouble walking.
I’m lucky, or so they tell me.
I’ve joined a few social media groups for people with NMO. I haven’t found that to be very productive. It’s fucking bleak, man. Many are using walkers or wheelchairs. Some are blind in one for both eyes. Others are getting around okay, but can’t run or take part in much physical activity, or they experience a great deal of pain.
I’ve been an athlete my whole life. It’s hard to reconcile who I will be without that part of me.
Of course, even as I write this, I understand that being an athlete is more of a mentality than anything else. Being athletic, however, is not something that can be willed into existence. You can eat healthy, get sleep, work out consistently, participate in athletic activities, do speed and agility training, etc. And in doing so, you can get stronger, fitter, healthier. You can even increase your hand-eye coordination, your balance, and yes— your athleticism. But natural athleticism is something different. An inherent spacial awareness of your body, an intuitive ability to perform certain movements with grace, an innate strength…
These are things I was born with.
These are things I stand to lose.
In acknowledging my athleticism, I don’t mean to be boastful. I’m no Olympian, after all. But that athleticism has been a source of pride my entire life, and even beyond my years of college and W-league soccer, I’m still someone who needs to feel strong, fit, and ready to take on a challenge. I want to be someone who can hike mountain trails all day without dragging, who can surf with some level of competency, who can readily jump into a kayak and row an ocean channel.
Who will I be if I can’t take adventures head on?
When I think about my diagnosis in this way, it makes me want to carpe that fucking diem. It makes me want to move to NYC yesterday. But it also makes me want to get out into the world and explore. I want to go swim with orcas in Norway before I lose that ability, and to volunteer at a lion sanctuary in South Africa before I can no longer be of service. I want to trek through parts of Asia while I still have full use of my legs. Moving to New York puts those plans on pause because financially I will need time to adjust and restock the reservoirs.
And… given the current state of the world… is moving to New York running right into the fire? Am I trading fifteen years of exploration for one year of city living? I know that if COVID rears its ugly head again this winter, I will be safe here. I know that my school will work with me, that I have access to a safe workout space (strength training is essential not just for my own sanity— I need that dopamine dose— but to fight back against the neuropathy I have in my lower extremities), and that I have a support system. The same cannot be said of the situation I’d be stepping into in New York. I don’t want to let fear rule my life, but I also don’t want to be completely reckless.
Thursday
And I love my job. I have it good there. Plus, I’ve found my tribe of coworkers who I can send screen shots like this to and let hilarity ensue.
Friday
I also have a living room that fits this bad boy.
Saturday
And a very nearby place to take walks with Aung.
Note: I’m writing this after having made a decision, and that has colored the way I’ve talked about it. The problem I was having as I went over and over the options was that I could counter and recounter and counter and recounter again every point I made, every thought I had, every doubt, fear, question, hope… On and on and on and on until I no longer knew what was an excuse, what was a real reason, and what was a real desire. This was the first time I realized that Theo (my OCD) was both the devil and the devil dressed as an angel. It took a lot of journaling, an impromptu visit to the city, and an extra long discussion with my therapist to sift through everything and arrive at the understanding discussed above.
It was a long week.