Let me begin this by saying that all week I've been waiting for my explosive moment. I just knew something hilarious or outrageous would happen, and I could tell all of my readers about it in my new corner of the blogosphere. Yet here I am in front of my computer and I have nothing. Well, nothing explosive anyway. Typically my world is filled with random happenings, people asking me the strangest questions, and the obligatory embarassing fall or inappropriate outburst. This week though? Nothing. And for that, I am truly sorry, because now you will have to listen to my two cent opinion about the new show The Carrie Diaries. Okay, not really, but kind of. In the middle of this writer's block, the world is ignoring me, funk of a week, I decided to tune into the CW spin off of Sex and the City. Let me just say to all of you Carrie Bradshaw fans, don't get your hopes up, there is no replacing or even reincarnating the true SJP as Carrie. But I digress; teenage Carrie begins her opening scene by narrating her thoughts. One of which, was that writer's, above all else, must know themselves. Despite the shortcomings of teenage Carrie when compared to her Manolo toting counterpart, the girl got me thinking. When I was 17 I knew I was destined for New York. The bright lights were my oddfellow friends, the air understood my lonely exhales, the people didn't make small talk or hold doors open; I loved New York and New York loved me. I was bound to be the real deal; Carrie Bradshaw. Then, my aha moment-- New York is expensive, free lance writing is more of a fairy tale than a reality, and my now husband hates crowds, noise, cities, etc.
So now what? Well, now I'm married (something I never saw coming), live in a small city (but I do live in a loft downtown!), and I just graduated college with a major in Business Studies, not Liberal Arts. My life has taken so many unexpected turns, none of which have landed me in Brooklyn (yet), but along all of its winding roads, I've found happiness, forgiveness, peace, myself; something I could have never said at 17 when New York was my end all be all.
So why am I sharing this with you? Because honestly in the past week I think I ignored all of the funny moments because I was wrapped up in the serious ones. I became preoccupied with my lists, e-mails, spreadsheets, and to-dos, and at the end of it all, it took 1984 Carrie Bradshaw to remind me to remember myself. I am not a quarter life crisis nut; I'm just having an off week. Maybe you are too, that's ok; we aren't defined by today (thank God); we are defined by each moment we acknowledge our true selves.