New York is cold. So cold I am almost content to curl up at home (that is, temporary home) and not budge an inch. If it weren’t for some amazing friends here I probably wouldn’t go anywhere. At least until I get adjusted. It’s been a shock, moving from year round heat to the brutal wind and cold. I know, I’m a New Englander, I should be ashamed; but after two years it’s not easy.
It’s funny. When I first moved to Cartagena last September the heat was such a shock that I was convinced in the first twenty-four hours that I couldn’t possibly last the week. It was the oppressive heat, it was the crowds, it was a language I didn’t speak. All of it intimidated me, and I was afraid that after everything I had done to get there I had made a mistake.
Now, I am experiencing similar symptoms. Fear, anxiety, doubt. Did I make a mistake, should I have stayed in that eternally sunny city, with its blue water, palm trees and pelicans? My lips are cracking, and every inch of skin is dry and flaky. At night the inside of my nose and throat hurt from the dry air. I was expecting this. I knew it was coming, but now that it’s here I feel the urge to cop out.
But then I have to remind myself why exactly I’m here. To pursue something I wouldn’t have been able to do elsewhere. A place where I can be inspired by amazing people and focus my energy on something that’s important to me.
To do: put on a sweat shirt, buy extra-strength lotion and stop bitching. Because this was my decision, I stand behind it, I’ll grow into it.