New York City wasn't supposed to be the big apple. It was supposed to be the big onion but some guy changed that and now this cold-hearted city is named after a sweet red fruit when it should be named after a vegetable riddled with layers, delicious when sauteed in butta and makes you tear up when you cut into it. That's New York. I moved to NYC almost ten years ago and many would say I'm almost a New Yorker. The plan was to be an actress. Not that I was completely hell bent on this purpose, but I was convinced I wasn't smart enough to do anything else. Here I am, nine years later, a successful (at least by my definition) real estate broker in one of the most cutthroat cities in the world for this profession and I wouldn't have it any other way. You'd never know I was making plans to move out of this town a year ago. I wanted to leave because I couldn't figure out the difference between wanting and expecting. I have come to realize that want can take you almost anywhere and expecting will most likely lead you to disappointment...in my mind the worst of emotions.
I signed a lease on an adorable apartment in Williamsburg. It's not what I had expected but as of late, it is definitely what I want. And now I find myself close to that high one gets when they first move to this God forsaken city. The high we all chase because after living through a razor-blade cold winter, cop cars driving into you while crossing Third Ave and going into debt in hopes of a comeback, there has to be a reason to stick around.
