Decisions. They’re stupid, but we all have to make them at some point in our lives. I’m not talking about everyday decisions though, like whether or not I can make this light if I speed up, or if I snooze one more time do I have time to wash my hair today. I’m talking about life-changing choices that cost money and time and pain and heartbreak and effort. I really miss when the only important decision I had to make was whether I wanted chicken nuggets or mac and cheese for lunch.
I feel like I’m at this point in my life where I’ve got to pick one of three paths to take, where the first path is logical, the second path is desirable, and the third path is comfortable. I’m truly blessed because I live with my parents, and my parents are extremely lenient when it comes to me helping with bills. I do help, I feel like I help a lot, but I’m also able to travel and buy things for myself that I wouldn’t be able to do if I were living on my own. And while that’s an ideal living situation, I want out of it. I want to move out and grow up and move on. But that’s where I’m stuck.
Logically, I should stay where I am. I have a really great job that I love–but that I’m fighting for, and that’s another blog post coming. I have a stable support system and friends that I love. I’m with my parents, so I’m able to travel to Toronto and Florida and NYC whenever I want. I can save money and spend it on Comic Con. And then save money again and spend it on Walker Stalker Con in Atlanta. And then save again and somehow end up in Disney World. I don’t have to cook. I don’t have to do laundry, although I’d love to. I just have to pay some bills and occasionally do things with my parents to keep them happy. But it doesn’t keep me happy.
My heart and soul belong in New York City. I feel it with my entire being, every time I’m walking down 8th avenue, every time I step inside Schmackary’s or see a show or weave around tourists (The truly annoying ones, though. Not me, I’m perfect). In high school, when we were looking at college campuses, we were told to choose the one that felt like home. Well, I never got to do that. I didn’t go to college because I didn’t know what I wanted to go to school for–surprise, surprise! But when I walk through the automatic doors at Port Authority and into the busy streets of Manhattan, I feel at home. I feel that sense of belonging my guidance counselor told me to look for. I feel like I could live there for four years, for the rest of my life. It’s what I want ultimately, but I know it’s not plausible. I have a friend who lives in a tiny one bedroom apartment, and she and her husband pay $2,200 a month for rent. And that’s not including internet and cable and electricity probably. It’s insane and I doubt I’ll ever be able to afford it.
If I stay with my parents, they are eventually moving to Florida. Which I would love. The weather is incredible. I’d love to live in a place that sees little to no snow. I’d love to live where thunderstorms are a norm and Disney is within driving distance. I’d love to live on the beach. Florida is where I see myself being the happiest and most relaxed. When I think about living in Spring Hill, I don’t think about being stressed out. I don’t think about money because a four bedroom house can be rented for $900 a month. And working in Disney or Universal would be pretty cool.
So, I’m torn. I’m hurting because I want NYC, but I want the security of living with my parents, and I want the weather and leisurely life of Florida. And I can’t have it all. It pisses me off. I get restless. I started packing for Florida and now we’re staying. I’m looking at apartments and jobs in NYC, but I want to keep my job I’m at now. To make a long story short: I don’t know what I want. When it comes to where I want to live, I don’t know what I want.
And I feel as if it’s the most important thing to figure out right now…even though I know if I flip a coin with NYC as heads and Parents as tails, I’d be disappointed in getting tails.