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Why is it that only when you are already on the train platform do you remember the things that were left behind? Today, the phone charger. Last week, the coffee cup. Tomorrow, the scarf that matches just so. Commuter problems.

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“Time goes faster the more hollow it is. Lives with no meaning go straight past you, like trains that don’t stop at your station.” ~ Carlos Ruiz Zafron

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I moved out of the “country” house five days ago. And for most of the days since, I have cried my self to sleep. It’s like a bad break up with out the hopes of really good make-up sex.

I knew I was attached to the house, in all of its colorful glory. I knew that I had fallen in love with “the country.” I especially knew how important my “country” friends had become. They are my family, even more so than some blood. We chose to be together.

A series of unfortunate events left me without a lot of choices. And at 30, one has to decide to put some things first. As an unattached babyless renter, your career tends to be the right choice. So I decided to pack up my things and move back to Long Island. For a reorg. A proper job search back in the city. And maybe even a recharge, refocus, regroup.

Dear friends in San Francisco insisted on a visit once the move was over. Smart move. I’ve been in the other coast for a few days now and I for the first time last night I didn’t shed a tear when my head hit the pillow. I was okay. Maybe the bedtime tears have run out. I know the talking about the roommate and the house tears have not. They are still strong and uninterrupted.

So, as the many many many decisions still need to be made as to what is next, there are a few things that are certain:

  • My heart is fuller than it has ever been before.
  • I am absolutely in love with the Hudson Valley.
  • I will carefully look into all career moves with diligence and the emphasis on the right fit.

And I will absolutely continue to believe in my Nana’s words of wisdom, “Thea, you imagine it and then you make it happen.”

 

I am ready.

I am ready for it to stop raining. I am ready for sundresses and flip-flops.

I am ready to fall in love.

I am ready to change my hair color.

I am ready to create.

I am ready to let go.

I am ready to move on.

I am ready to forgive, but not forget.

I am ready to manifest change on a higher level and help the people around me to do the same.

I am ready to bake. And cook. And make homemade mozzarella.

I am ready for the rest of my life to get started.

I am ready to change my bedspread.

I am ready to say goodbye to my insecurities.

I am ready to accept help.

I am ready to clean out my closets, material and intangible.

I am ready to make a difference.

I am ready to dance.

I am ready.

“It just goes to show you that you don’t really know how impactful you are on someone’s life.  It’s really important to be the best person you can be because you don’t know what kind of an impact your actions are having on the other person. ” ~ Thea Linscott on July 1, 2009

Spring in NYC = flip flops to the subway to the office and then the heels, street meat lines are longer than usual, Central Park suddenly is the place to be despite that fact that it’s always been there, the Mon – Wed mani/pedi special is the where you go for lunch, tastiD loyalists are annoyed by the line suddenly formed at their favorite  peanut butter flavored dispenser, college students finally bail from clutch studio apartments on the LES and you may actually sit on a bench. And breathe. Just for a minute.

Daffodils blooming on 54th Street and 8th.

Spring in the country = gorgeous morning rides, breathing in between rain showers, outdoor activity planning, planting grass seed, walking in the evening, RAMPS, sitting outside  for as many meals as possible, cleaning out the garden, renewing the lease for another year in the house, trying to not make plans due to the booked ’till July 11th calendar, breathing in the lilacs and deciding which farm stand to go to first.

The lilacs at Sojourner Truth Park, Ulster Landing.

“Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

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