When I moved to New York back in December, there were some things that I had in mind. Namely, artsy parties, artsy men, more fashion than I could every get tired of (or afford), fanTAStic restaurants and dressing fabulously. I had reached a point in my life where the place that I lived no longer offered me the type of challenges or growth that I craved. I resigned to give up my comfortable one-bedroom apartment, my garden, and a three-block walk to a mountain park for any sign of, well... grass or privacy.
What I didn't have in mind were some of the unbelievable ways I would be pushed, the insecurities and temptations that would pull me or how quickly my energies would dissipate during the course of an exhausting move while recreating my social life from scratch. It seems obvious, but on top of everything, I can't seem to get it through my head that these things don't happen overnight. THe stakes are high, the expectations higher and my self-standards are through the roof.
In times like these, its no wonder that yoga makes me cry, restless nights leave my eyes bloodshot and that I don't feel quite like myself. In honor of clearing my mind and showing myself a little love this weekend, I've resigned to give myself a damn break. It's nothing but double cappuccinos, French photographer exhibits and brownies for breakfast --if that's what will make me happy.
Au revoir! That's all for now! Mmmmmuuuuuuaaaaaa!
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