Monday, March 12, 2012

long distance lover.

The last time I went to New York, I lost my camera in a cab (or in the street, or in a restaurant; truthfully, I don't know where I lost it, I only know that in the midst of taking pictures of the most glorious snowstorm of my life, I went from having it to not having it anymore). The loss was devastating, not because of the camera itself, but because of all the pictures that I had on the memory card inside.

I returned to the big city last month, armed with a new (fancy!) camera, determined to prove to myself that I'm not as terrible of a photographer as I had so far proven.

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My trip wasn't about taking pictures, though New York provided colorful backdrops and vibrant scenery gorgeous enough to camouflage my inexperience and it just so happened to fall the weekend before I had to present my end-of-photography class project. But honestly that's not why I went.

No, I really I went to see old friends and colleagues, feel cold air on my skin, and enjoy the kind of inspiration that only comes from a city that rarely sleeps.

I also needed a Valentine, and I knew if I asked nicely, New York would be mine.

And he was. Perfect.

Along with friends Lauren, Katy, Molly, Elise and Laura, my beloved offered me a long weekend full of delicious meals at his finest restaurants, spontaneous street dance parties at strange hours with new friends, endless shopping excursions at sample sales and several day-long walks to nowhere in particular.

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We went to a "fashion" show (I'm using this term liberally) and then conducted our own cat-walks and photo shoots on the lower East Side, drank rich coffee during the day and Dark n' Stormys at night, and laughed so hard our stomachs hurt. A lot.

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I found my happy place.

I felt alive.

Inspired.

Strangely confident in a place that used to intimidate me so.

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I have longed to make New York my home for a while, but lately I've started to doubt if that will ever happen, and while I am saddened at the thought, I am also trying to be honest with myself about what I am capable of. I feel too young to give up on a dream I've had for a long time, too old to start over in a new place, and just old enough to understand exactly how much I'd be giving up if decided to do it anyway.

Sometimes I wonder, also, if the love affair I'm having with New York only exists because our absence from each other makes my heart grown fonder. Are we in a long-distance relationship that survives so lovingly only because of the long periods of time we live a part? What if we lived together and discovered we hated each other? I don't know if I could bear it.

When my trip was over and it was time to leave, I climbed into the back of a cab that smelled so bad, my eyes started to water. Always looking for a sign that will tell me what to do and how to feel, I thought the cab may have been a metaphor for New York and a reminder that I needed to escape the stench of the city and get back to the south. On the other hand, I considered, what if the smelly cab was the smell of the disappointing reality I was heading back to and needed to escape?

My beloved was sending me mixed signals. How very cliche of him.

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Nonetheless, as I waved goodbye to my long distance lover, promising that I'd see him soon and maybe next time I'd stay even longer, my eyes legitimately started to cry - and I honestly wasn't sure whether I was weeping because I was leaving my love, painfully aware that our get-togethers might only ever be long weekend rendezvous or if the stench from the cab was really that offensive.

Some things, I guess I'll never know.

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