Yesterday upon returning to my apartment building, I stepped out of the elevator, and gazed at myself in the hallway mirror, wondering who I've be come, and feeling distant from who I am - or at least who I once was.
I tried to tell my roommate that I didn't feel like me, but I didn't really have the words to provide an adequate explanation. I attempted, stating, "I'm just not New York."
But I think it's more than that - or maybe it's that I've been trying to be someone I'm not. But at this point, it's not really pretending - it is. I am the me of New York City.
While my feet crave chacos, I wear boots. While my heart craves outdoor adventure, my adventures now consist of subways, cement, and pubs in the Lower East Side.
And I do like beer - but not that much.
I miss climbing.
I miss surfing.
I miss snowboarding.
But most of all, I miss me.