For Amy, On Her Wedding Day

I met Amy almost 9 years ago.  I remember one of our first conversations, on the corner in Tribeca where our church met.  She carried her guitar case and told me about her recent time living in Australia.  She had beautiful red hair and was living the office worker by day/ musician by night New York life.  I knew instantly that I liked her and that maybe, just maybe, she’d be my first New York friend.  As a native of Nebraska she shared my Midwest sensibility but as a fellow 20-somethings living in New York City we shared the same sense of adventure and dreaming that people who moved to New York after college carry with them.

She became the first of my New York girls, a group of women who changed my life and loved me so very completely.  During my first year in the city Amy was at times my only friend but throughout the course of that year we built community.  First it was with Aimee and Bob and Ben.  Then, at the beginning of that second year Amy and Aimee and I began a little “small group” of sorts, joined by Rachel and April, Kim and Becca.  These women were my family in the Big Apple.  They were the best things I took with me when I left.

Amy was always the start of it all and the one I continued to return to over the years.  She was the one to stand up for me at my wedding and the one to show up for my dad’s funeral.  She is beautiful, inside and out.  An incredibly talented singer and songwriter, Amy wrote the song she played at our wedding that I still cherish to this day.  She loves others so well.  She cares for her people, works hard to keep in touch with the friends she’s made around the world.  She shows up when she needs to, listens well and doesn’t judge.  Amy is the kind of friend everyone should have- loyal, loving and true.  I’ve been so blessed by her love and friendship.

Today is her wedding day.  Because I am 38 weeks pregnant and her wedding is in DC, I am not wearing the beautiful gray bridesmaid dress and standing by her side as she says her vows like I wanted to be.  Instead I am home, thinking about my sweet friend and what this day means.

I’ve walked with Amy through the past nine years as she’s courageously opened her heart to the wrong guys or the right-on-paper guys or the almost enough guys.  I’ve watched her take chances and put herself out there in big, brave ways.  I’ve watched her get hurt and heal and grow.  I’ve always known that Amy was a gem and that someday the right guy would see all that I’ve seen.  I knew if she was patient enough and continued to open her heart even though it had been mishandled before, the guy that was worth it would finally show up.    

And he did.  Her future husband knew instantly what I’ve always known; this is one you don’t let get away.  He was honest and up front and played no games.  He cherished her and valued her and took her aback with his straightforwardness.  And he himself is as much of a gem as she is. 

Today, on her wedding day, I want her to know how proud I am of her.  She had every reason to close her heart and stay small and safe.  She could have chosen not to take another risk, to let heartbreak and wrong guys jade and harden her.  But she instead chose the more difficult path of vulnerability.  She chose to stay open.  To take a chance.  To continue to love big.  I’m so very proud of her for this choice. 

She chose to stay true to herself.  To not compromise for the wrong guy.  She chose to wait for the one who loved her for her.  I’m so thankful she did.

Today, on her wedding day, I hope she knows how loved she is.  I hope she knows how many people are so excited for this day.  I hope she knows that we all cheering to know that she is marrying someone who is worthy, who values her in all the ways she deserves to be valued, who is an equal partner. 

Today, on her wedding day, I pray that she can feel all the joy, love and happiness that surround her.  I pray that this day, the beginning of the journey, is one that is filled with laughter and joyful tears, and enough certain happiness to sustain her through the eventual hard times every marriage encounters.  I pray that she knows she is surrounded by a community of people who are rooting for her marriage, committed to support it along the way.  I pray that my sweet friend knows how loved she is.

Happy wedding day Amy.  I am so very sad that I can’t be there.  But know I am thinking of you all day, loving you from afar and cheering for you in spirit.   This is a happy, happy day.

NYC

It’s been a year and a half since my feet touched New York City pavement.  When too much time has passed since I’ve been to my city I start to experience withdrawal symptoms.  I find myself daydreaming about New York, running through as many memories of my time there as my mind can conjure.  I hone in with laser like focus on any picture, TV show or movie featuring the big apple, looking past the focal point to the city in the background, aching for its energy and searching for clues as to the specific location.  I experience strong feelings of jealousy and anger towards those lucky individuals living there.  And oh help the poor NYC resident who happens to cross my path during this period of withdrawal.  I will sit them down and force them to tell me all about what they are doing, where they are eating and how much they are loving New York, New York. 

At a wedding this fall I full on embarrassed myself with a couple of my husband’s friends who had flown in from NYC.  I couldn’t stop talking about it, couldn’t stop peppering them with questions trying to see if some of my favorite haunts still existed.  And then the embarrassment continued when I admitted that it had been five years since I’d lived in New York.  And then I hit an all time low when I had to further admit that I’d only lived there for two years.

I talk about New York like I’d lived there a lifetime.  In the grand scheme of my life two years is a remarkably brief period.  College was twice as long for heaven’s sake and I don’t wax on about that in the same way I do about my city.   I mean at what point will it be an unhealthy attachment to a place I once lived?  In ten years?  Five?  Two years ago?

Some of it has to do with all the years leading up to my time living in Manhattan.  I don’t even remember when I decided I wanted to live in New York City, I just always remember wanting to live there.  When I was a little girl New York represented Broadway and all my dreams of becoming an actress.  As I grew older my career ambitions changed, but the dream to live in NYC stayed the same.  The whole of my life leading up to my move at age 22 seemed to be moving towards that moment. 

My embarrassingly intense connection may also have to do with the beautifully intense life I lived there.  They were two very full years.  The first year in New York was the best hardest year of my life.  I don’t mean that it was the best and hardest year of my life but rather that it was the hardest year in the best possible ways.  I had no money, knew no one and was living really far from home with out any real safety nets for the first time.  At first, because I had no one to go out with, I would spend entire weekends watching Law and Order SVU marathons until I was too afraid to leave my house for fear of being attacked, kidnapped and sold on the Russian mafia black market.  (I finally got too scared to even watch SVU when I saw the episode with the woman found in her building’s elevator shaft.  She hadn’t even left the apartment!  I didn’t stand a chance!)  Then, as I finally had a few reasons to leave the house, I was so broke I would nurse one drink all night and walk everywhere.  I remember a night at a bar that was way too artsy and cool for me on the lower east side.  I stayed out too late to walk or take the subway home and I had to find an ATM with only a $2.00 service charge because my bank account was down to $22.50 and I had no other cash for cab fare.  But I lived in New York City and all I had to do was walk a few blocks to remember that this was my happy place.

If the first year was hard in the best way then the second was just best.  I finally hit my stride, made friends that would become lifelong loves, and started making just enough more money to enjoy things every once in a while.  I loved everything about that year and would need much more than a blog post to do it justice.

And then it was over.  At the time it felt right to move, it felt like I was getting out while I still loved New York, before it had a chance to make me jaded or angry.  Now though I wonder if I shouldn’t have stayed another two or three years.  I never expected to be a life long New Yorker.  I love my Midwest family too much to stay away (and I married a country boy).  But a strong part of me wishes I had given myself a few more years and memories with my city love.

Now, two kids later, I still wonder what it would be like to live there now, in this stage of life.  On good, non-withdrawal days I think about the chaos of two kids and all. the. things. that come along with them and I am deeply grateful for my house and car and quiet little life.  But on days like this, when my absence from the city I love has caused me to romanticize it and everything about it, I think about how much better the grass would be on the Central Park side, how much more I would love my life, how much better everything would be.  It’s not true of course.  The rich and beautiful life I’ve built here is such because of the people that exist here, not the geographical location in which I live.  And I wouldn’t trade this life for anything.  Not even a big apartment over looking Central Park West… well, maybe.  How big are we talking? J