When I first arrived in NYC, I was driving a massive U-Haul with my friend and soon-to-be roommate for 6 years. And the first thing I did was to take a picture as we got on the bridge with the skyline in the background.
At 4:40AM as I walked to a parking garage to pick up a ZipCar (which is infinitely cheaper than hiring a car to get to the airport with 5 suitcases, a duffle bag, and a backpack), I stopped and looked at the reverse skyline and inverse time of day and took a picture. A reminder and a celebration.
It hasn’t quite hit me that I am leaving NYC. Nor has it hit me that I am going to be in London – a city I have dreamed of living in since I was an 8 year old watching ‘Allo ‘Allo on a VHS tape in Kuwait. All those family vacations where I wondered if I could in Piccadilly Circus with all the pigeons.
I also haven’t slept since 9AM and am trying to rebound from a massively atrocious head cold. So I may just be completely delirious and not firing on any cylinders.
But, really, I don’t feel it – no anxiety, no apprehension, no excitement, no thrill. Maybe I’m just sub-consciously playing it safe.Or maybe I am just so used to being displaced that this doesn’t phase me anymore.