After a gruesome 2 weeks of NYC apartment hunting, which can only be compared to the kind of terrible stomachache you get after eating a bunch of moldy grapes, I’ve officially signed a lease for a place in Harlem.
But somewhere in between wanting to stab my eyeballs out and rip out all my hair, I was reminded just how lucky I am to have loved ones ready to lend a hand. I had Jenny spending 80% of her time at work searching for apartments with me, May and Kyle coming back to help me pack despite having moved out, Brianna, RJ, and JJ offering to help me move (who actually volunteers to help move?!), Kyle moving me after moving all day, Otavio spending his original road trip birthday weekend roadtripping in a moving truck to my storage unit instead, my boss graciously offering up his apartment for me, Jenny/Will/Adam/Mel/Ruca for letting me crash on their couch, and of course, all the countless friends that spent time sending leads over and offering their couch.
I’m so grateful. And I feel so lucky to have a community of truly caring people that will catch me when I fall. Gratitude party in Harlem when I get set up!
Only 350 more days until I go through this entire process again…
Get over yourself.
Yesterday I was telling Otavio about a mentor of mine who had suddenly dropped interest in me in the past two years. It wasn’t like she ignored my calls or anything, but her delayed responses and clipped texts often left me paranoid that I had wronged her in some way. In fact, in the last two years, I was so disconnected from her life that she up and got pregnant AND had a baby, all without me knowing.
Otavio listened and then patiently responded, “Denise, you’re a lovely person and I love you very much but if I had a baby, I probably wouldn’t talk to you either.”
And just like that my good old boyfriend reminds my self-centered self that it’s not always about me. #buuuuuut…
Someone once told me, “The sooner you realize you’re just going to become your parents, the quicker you’ll save yourself from an identity crisis.”
I’ve come to realize how true that statement is, no matter how hard I try to avoid it. Without knowing, I’ve become the nagger my mom always was for me. I’m impatient and impulsive. I find myself unable to sit still when I watch someone I care deeply potentially take a step in the wrong direction, so I nag some more. And (un)luckily, like my mom, I got a temper-pedic heart that softens when anything comes at it.
Like my dad, I’m swayed by adventure, always peering across the field to see how green someone else’s grass is. And yet, the best adventure is only the best adventure for now because there’s always the next best adventure awaiting. I’ve taken on dad’s knack for big dreamin’ but when you dream of jumping that far, you also bring along dad’s self-doubt and insecurities for the ride.
But what kicks all of these other traits’ ass is both my parents’ strength to survive. It’s that strength that kept my mom working 3 jobs as a single parent raising 2 kids. It’s that strength that kept my dad afloat in a foreign country when it seemed like the ground was being ripped from beneath him.
I guess I can’t control what’s been absorbed already. What’s done is done and I’m accepting the fact that I’m just a freakish compilation of my mom and dad. But, if there’s still more to soak in, I’d like to request osmosing the shit out of their unwavering strength plz.
My parents are pretty cool. I guess being like them is ok.