I’ve been thinking about how our lives are broken up into phases. They’re based on relationships we’re in, places we live, jobs we have; for some of us, kids or pets. I look back on my life and see it in chunks: the two-year relationship with whats-his-name; the four years I worked in HR; the seven years I lived in that one apartment in Astoria. Sometimes these overlap. I can usually remember what year I did something by remembering which boyfriend I did it with, or where I was working at the time.
I’ve been thinking about this because feel like I just began a new phase of my life. It’s been slowly approaching – the TV job I’ve had since September is part of it; my mom’s death in November is, too. The move from her house on Long Island back to NYC has cemented it for me. It’s official: Here it is. My new phase has begun!
This is both exciting and terrifying. I’ve been feeling the weirdest mix of glee and fear and elation and melancholy. What I’m trying to wrap my head around the most is this feeling that, for the first time in a long time – possibly forever – I am finally living my life as opposed to waiting for it to start.
It’s been over a week since I posted on this blog because I’ve been so busy with packing and unpacking and all the general stuff you have to get done when you move. Saturday was the big day. I took two days off from work Thursday and Friday so I could finish packing up as much as I could. The more I packed, the more overwhelming it became. It was like removing sand from a beach, cup by cup. I would do hours of work, and yet… there was still all this sand.
My mom was actually good about getting rid of things over the years, but she definitely kept her fair share of tools, papers, journals, books, clothes, and just… stuff. Not even close to being a hoarder, mind you. But a 71-year-old with four kids and a knack for reading and photography tends to accumulate a lot over the years.
The move itself went really well. It was the first day in a long time I woke up and didn’t do some kind of workout (but I made up for it later on in the day). I hired the same moving company my dad and my broker used, and they were great. (Relocators on Long Island, for anyone interested.) Four nice and hardworking guys showed up at 8am with a huge truck and did all of the heavy lifting while I continued packing up boxes of clothes, food, papers. I didn’t even get all of it. I have to go back this weekend for the rest.
My dad drove me and the dogs into the city while the movers took their truck. The dogs had no idea what was happening, because they have dog brains that don’t understand 99% of the English language. They were good on the car ride, though. They knew something was up. But they were good.
We arrived first, and I unloaded some stuff from the car while my dad took the dogs to the park. Thank god for my dad. He’s been such a huge help these past few months. I’m so glad he’s around.
I won’t bore you with all the mundane details of the move, because they’re really not worth mentioning. The movers did a great job, nothing was broken, and the rain miraculously held off – there had been a light drizzle while they loaded the truck in the morning, and I swear as soon as they were finished, it started pouring. By the time we got to the city, it had stopped.
One thing I will mention: I have way more kitchen supplies than I’ve ever had, ever, in my entire life. Thank you, Mom.
After I unpacked a bit of the kitchen (the most important room to unpack, IMO), I walked the dogs in Riverside Park. They were so excited and smelled everything and peed everywhere.
Then I decided to go for a run. I was exhausted and sore, but sometimes, that weirdly gives me energy. I remember years ago when I waited tables, sometimes after a long double shift, I would walk the city streets for 30-45 minutes – partly to hail a cab closer to where I lived and save money, partly because I was so tired, I wanted to move more? I don’t know if that makes sense.
So I pulled on some shorts and the first running shirt I saw in an open box of clothes and made my way to Central Park. I live closer to Riverside Park, but Central Park was calling out to me. I had to go.
My initial idea was to do a full loop, or about 6 miles. I started at the very top of the park, in the northwest corner – which meant that the first stretch I ran was up the steepest hill in the park. This actually wasn’t so bad, because I had just started running so my legs were fresh (despite me having been on them the entire day).
It was a little after 7pm and overcast. It was getting dark. There were only a few other runners in the park, a nice change of pace from what it usually is. I guess not too many people want to go running in slightly dark, overcast weather at 7pm on a Saturday.
Then it started raining.
This… was okay. I kind of enjoyed it. My biggest worry was my headphones. And my phone to an extent, although that was protected in a sleeve on my arm. I have bone conducting headphones that were not cheap, and I love them, and I didn’t want them ruined.
Luckily, they withstood the rain. Thank you, Trekz Titanium.
After a little while, I realized I was actually, honestly, truly tired. I decided to cut it short and exit onto Central Park West, then just run up to my neighborhood and get some dinner to bring back home. I picked up the pace to what felt pretty fast, and I guessed that maybe I had been running for 35 to 40 minutes.
When I stopped, I was surprised: it had only been 23 minutes. A little under 3 miles. And I hadn’t even gone that fast (about a 9:14 pace). Weird. A nothing of a run, yet a great one too. It was still raining. I stopped in a diner and got a chicken club with fries to go. Not my usual dinner. But this was a weird, special day. All my usual rules were out the window.