So If You Care to Find Me, Look to the Western Sky

A little about me, how I got here, and what to expect from this newsletter

While this first post is free - the majority of this newsletter is going to be exclusive to paid subscribers, due to the intimate nature of all that I’ll be sharing.

And also - because moving is expensive.

I am so lucky to be an entrepreneur with a business that allowed me to pick up and move across the country. And, I am also in my first year of business, experiencing success that doesn’t always translate to my bank account. And, I am supporting myself fully, for the first time in my life.

If ten people purchased a yearly subscription for $60, that $600 would make a huge, incredibly needed difference in my life right now.

(There are also monthly subscriptions available for $6 - and an extra $60/month from ten new subscribers would be so impactful too. It’s groceries, rent money, *uber and bus money, and so much more.)

*Yes, I am indeed a New Yorker in California with no car, no license, and no ability to drive. She’s making it work!

I’m not quite sure where to begin.

I could start with last fall when it finally hit me that people outside of New York City are happy with their lives (kidding, mostly.)

I could start with my very first trip to California a decade ago, when I took summer classes on the UCLA campus.

I could start with my journey to life coaching last summer, when I received my certification from a school in San Diego that offers online classes thanks to Covid.

I could start with my very first trip to San Diego six months ago, to see Idina Menzel’s new musical about “a New Yorker who finds peace in the Redwood trees of California.”

Or I could start with the first time I heard Idina Menzel belt “so if you care to find me, look to the Western sky” in Wicked.

I was eight years old. I just wanted to go home and start my winter break playing with my Barbies. And somehow, I found myself in the Gershwin Theater seeing the musical that has left a handprint on my heart ever since (pun absolutely intended.)

If you had told that shy eight year girl that she was going to move to California twenty years later, she wouldn’t have thought much of it. Even as a child, I knew how lucky I was to live in New York City. A fellow classmate told me that we went to one of the “best schools in the country” during the first weeks of kindergarten, and they were right. I knew that I was living in the city that people dreamed of making it to.

And here I am, on the other side of the country, living an entirely new dream.

At first, the plan was to move to Chicago.

But before that, the plan was to never move at all.

A friend and I used to talk about living in New York from “crib to crypt.” New York or Nowhere. It felt like “the only city that mattered.” I was even one of those super elitist New Yorkers who not so secretly considered Manhattan the best borough. (If a New Yorker tells you that they don’t have a ranking of the boroughs in their heads, I think they’re likely lying. Mine is Manhattan, Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens, New Jersey, Staten Island.)

Yes, I know New Jersey is not a borough, but a state. I’d just rather go to New Jersey over Staten Island and that is saying a lot.

Kidding. Mostly.

I also resonate with the idea that traveling from Manhattan to Brooklyn is long distance. It feels easier to board a 6-hour flight to California than it feels to take the subway past Williamsburg.

I used to date a guy* in Bushwick while living on the Upper East Side and if that isn’t dedication, I don’t know what is.

*He broke up with me after a little over two months, in public, on the day of the Pride parade, on the steps of a Chase Bank that is now a museum, while sitting shoulder to shoulder with strangers. He went home and updated his hinge profile with pictures of us that he had cropped me out of. My braids are literally on his shoulder, in one of the pictures.

None of this information is relevant to why I left New York - just thought I’d share an early 20s NY dating horror story for fun!

Anyway.

Being a New Yorker was - and in some ways, still is - a big part of my personality. I like to say that the city raised me. I credit my ability to think on my feet, put on a poker face when I’m terrified, and make it to a play on time even though I’m wearing heels and the subway was stuck for 20 minutes - to New York City. I grew up exposed to all kinds of people, foods, activities, etc. I didn’t think anywhere else could compare.

London was the only city I really enjoyed spending time in, outside of New York (while studying abroad) but I was still happy to get home to New York when the trip was over.

I used to constantly compare other “cities” to New York. Oh this restaurant reminds me of Brooklyn, oh this neighborhood is kind of like your version of the Upper East Side. What do you mean that store closes at 7pm?

I couldn’t believe that other cities didn’t have thriving public transit systems.

I was excited, but shocked, to find out how affordable many cities felt in comparison to New York, where you can spend $100 by practically just walking outside and breathing.

The thing about New York is that there’s not just one New York; two people can spend their entire lives there, and have completely different experiences based on their upbringings, communities, interests, careers, and so on and so forth.

I grew up in a very privileged version of New York. Private school, Park Avenue, and Penthouses. I had no clue what my family’s socioeconomic background was until we moved to the Upper East Side right before I started high school. But from then on, I was pretty aware of my privilege.

A whole new level of awareness developed when I went to college. We did this icebreaker exercise with a handout called the ‘identity wheel.’ Part of it involved disclosing our socioeconomic status. A lot of people were saying “upper/middle class” and I knew even from our brief conversations that they had grown up differently than I had. I willed myself to admit that I was upper class that day, and I was right.

Growing up privileged in New York is a singular experience. It’s not as exaggerated as Gossip Girl, but let’s just say it’s adjacent. I went to school with some of the children of well-known public figures and was exposed to a level of wealth that only seems wilder and wilder the older I get. During bat mitzvah season, my mother made an offhand comment that some of these parties would be more elaborate than weddings I would attend later in life. And she was right - they were very elaborate (and very fun) parties.

For many of us, our childhoods often create a template for what we think life is supposed to be like, and what we should aspire to. By that logic, I grew up thinking that I should have the same kind of lifestyle that those around me did - on the outside at least.

I spent my early 20s trying to keep up with my corporate friends, going to expensive restaurants, clubbing, and drinking a lot. I let my parents buy me an apartment I could never afford by myself. I joined boards of organizations, volunteered, and had a very active social life that looked great on social media. I became a workaholic, no matter what industry I was in.

Right before I moved, someone posited to me that living in New York seems exhausting. The thought had never occurred to me. And anyway, wasn’t everyone always a little exhausted all the time?

(I also thought that everyone was always a little miserable all the time, before starting on antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds, by the way.)

Living in the city you grew up in can come with its own unique challenges, even if you live in ‘the greatest city in the world.’

Greatest city in the world or not, there’s nothing quite like living less than half an hour from Mom and Dad.

I am incredibly aware that many people would love to live close to their families again. Some people even opt to have their parents live with them when they have kids, or even move home themselves just to be closer to their family. I love that, for those people.

I am not one of those people. I have cosplayed as one of those people since I graduated from college.

When people I meet in California say things like, “It must be so hard to move away from your family.” I smile and nod politely and say something to the effect of, “Yes, I do imagine that it is really hard for some people.”

It was really hard for me too - but not for the reasons that those well-intentioned strangers think.

Moving was also pretty damn freeing.

Maybe for the reasons, you may think. Maybe not.

We’ll get into it.

We’ll see if your expectations differ from my ever-changing reality, as the weeks, months, and perhaps years go by, here in sunny San Diego.

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I’ll be writing about why I left New York, what it was like to say goodbye to the city I’ve called home, and what it was like to return for my first visit, to go to my best friend’s wedding (spoiler alert - the wedding was the best, but being back in the city itself was strange.)

I’ll be talking about the stark contrasts I’ve found between East and West Coast living, beyond the longstanding cliches of New York vs. California that I’ve found are mostly reserved for NYC vs. LA.

If you’re already part of the Wild Cozy Free community, you can expect the same raw vulnerability, turned up by quite a few notches.

This newsletter is going to be exclusive to paid subscribers for the reasons I mentioned at the beginning of this post.

TLDR: If ten people bought a yearly subscription, that $600* would make a huge difference in my life right now.

AND if you subscribe before September 4th (next Wednesday), I’ll give you you access to paid posts over at Wild Cozy Free - for free! This deal will be available for paid yearly subscribers only.

*A yearly subscription is $60/year, and monthly is $6/month. You save $12 with the yearly subscripiton!

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It is so hard to be honest about where I am, and what I’m going through. I’ve read this post maybe 15 times now to stall. I am absolutely going to shut my laptop and throw my phone into the couch cushions and try to ignore all of the horrible thoughts my brain will come up with when I dare to wonder how people are reacting to this essay.

But I am going to push those thoughts down and publish anyway.

I am going to take a deep breath of the salt air and remind myself that it’s okay to ask for help.

I am going to stare up at the palm trees and remind myself that it’s okay to ask for help. I will tell myself that a privileged childhood and young adulthood do not make me exempt from asking for help now. That it’s okay to need help now.

I am going to watch the waves roll in and tell myself it’s okay to ask for help. I will try to convince myself that I’m not financially irresponsible. That I have done the best I could with what I’ve had, at every single stage.  That I’ve made mistakes, just like everyone else. That I deserve security and stability.

I will remind myself that it’s okay to ask for help until I start believing it.

And then I will turn on ‘do not disturb’, throw my phone into the couch, and think about how much a *picture of my feet would go for on the internet if it comes down to that. I do have a good pedicure right now.

Kidding. A little. Mostly. Maybe?

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That’s all for now. Stay tuned for the next installment. Maybe I’ll start by sharing how I almost moved to Chicago, and how San Diego ended up being a dark horse that appeared out of nowhere when I didn’t even think there were other cities in the running.

You’ll learn, throughout this series that San Diego is just kind of magical that way.

And I can’t wait to share that magic with you, as this journey unfolds and I take you along with me.

PS - if you’re in San Diego, or know anyone here who you think I’d vibe with, share this essay with them, let them know I’m cool, and ask if they’d want to get coffee with me? Help a girl make friends!

PPS - I’m planning to post weekly - but will it be an essay each week? A list of things I’m grateful for? A list of recommendations? A diary of the activities I’ve been up to? A poem written on a beach walk? A song about missing subways and *pigeons? We’ll see!

*NEVER. I will never miss the pigeons. Will happily be leaving those menaces behind. More on them later.

PPS - Surprised there’s a third one? You’ll get used to it! Head over to Wild Cozy Free and/or my website to learn more about me and my life up to this point.

Allow Me to (Re)introduce Myself