Until last week, my days in New York City always started the same way, after family duties in the morning, I'd slough off that role quite easily and charge off to the subway, with some kind of hip hop or rock pulsing in my ears. My eyes barely had to lift and focus because without fail, my feet unerringly steered me every morning towards Chelsea. Stepping off the train at Union Square, this was my neighborhood. Here I knew where to get the best cappuccino and croissant; if it was to be a healthier morning, then the best places to get my green juice and oatmeal. I knew the best streets to take photos of the gleaming Empire State Building. I knew what time of the day the sun slants just so down 18th street so that it broke your heart just a tiny bit.
So I changed jobs last week ... and not just any job. A job I held for 10 years. TEN YEARS. That's the longest thing I've done ever. Longer than I've been married, longer than I've lived in one apartment, longer than I've had my dog. I started there as an intern, a baby really. A wide-eyed girl still getting her footing in New York City; still getting her footing in life. Sometimes I thought I would be there for my entire career in publishing, a mind-shatteringly naive thought when you think about how much people job hop these days, true, but a nice one nonetheless.
And then suddenly, it was time. So I said goodbye to the hallways I'd walked and ran down for 10 years, goodbye to the office that helped me grow up, goodbye to the neighborhood that I knew like the back of my hand, goodbye to the office mates who had grown into dear friends. "It's just a job" I told myself. But it was more than that. So much more.
My new commute is one of gleaming beige marble, and a dark rushing river of people in suits. I find myself constantly wondering where they are all hurrying to so quickly? There's a new skyline to look at, a new set of buildings to marvel at. A new set of coffee shops to explore. A new set of office mates to hopefully become my friends.
That's my new sky, and those are my new buildings, and I know I'll find my coffee shop. And there's no eloquent way to close this post, because at its essence this really isn't a closing, but rather a beginning.