It's Not Me, It's You

I definitely didn’t see this coming. After nine months together, I just broke up with someone tall, dark, and handsome, who I've had a crush on since I was a teenager. He's rich, thrilling, lives to work and never sleeps. For a while, I thought he was The One.

I just broke up with New York City.

I thought we would be the perfect match. When we first got together, it was the middle of winter, so I assumed any problems we had would only get better come spring. As summer showed up, he made promises of sunny days and better jobs. Instead, he was rainy, cold, and miserable most of the time. He was distant and didn’t seem to care whether I was stuck at home waiting for him to cheer up, and he certainly didn’t follow through with the promise of a job. He caused fights between my friends and I. Plus, I thought he smelled like garbage and urine. (Hey, pheromones are pheromones.) I waited for things to get better. They didn’t.

New York, if you were a real boy, I would have soooo broken up with you before graduation.

I’ve learned that maybe relationships that seem perfect from a distance aren’t always so great when seen up close. Before New York, I thought happiness meant sky-high heels and fancy Meatpacking clubs. Turns out I’d rather be in flip-flops with a sweating Bud Light in my hand any day of the week. Life is what you make it. (Apparently, I make it country.)

Like all breakups that are meant to be, I feel nostalgic about the good times and am trying to iron over the bad. I feel inspired and new and more like me than I have in a very long time. I know there is a better fit out there for me somewhere, and I’m excited to find it.

And if I never hear the wail of a siren again, it will be too soon.