I left my heart in London.
So much (too much) has happened recently. This year has gone by too quickly, and even though I know, technically, the last third of it remains (September, October, November, and December), so much is already set or mostly set:
- September: Richmond + NYC + London
- October: NYC + Richmond
- November: NYC + London
- December: (tbd – but Christmas for People Who Don’t Celebrate Christmas is happening, somewhere, just not sure where yet)
It’s done. 2018 is done. Tomorrow is Summer Banking Holiday in the UK, and next week is Labor Day, and the kids are already back in school in most of this country and–
It’s done. This year? It’s over.
Well, I left my heart in London.
I wasn’t planning on it. When I booked that trip in April, on a lark, good ticket price and a desire to look ahead (for April I was in Bermuda, and then May back and forth to NYC, and June, in Puerto Rico, so naturally, July needed a thing … and August was already to be Florida), it was just a trip. My plan? Hang with my best friend. No more / no less.
And then, suddenly, most unexpectedly, it was more.
And that more led to changes I wasn’t planning on (breaking up with my girlfriend, planning to shutdown my life in DC, trying to figure out the next step and how to get to London and to make it a thing to stick).
And yet, even with all of this energy, all of this activity, and opportunities appearing left and right, and doors shutting and then banging right back open–
I can’t help but think…
I can’t help but say—
I left my heart in London, but the work I need to do is in New York and I hate that those places are so far apart and yet so damn close together. Seven hours. 30+ flights a day. If there are two places on those two continents that can be considered the closest, it is not about geography but about cultural connection, then it is New York and London.
London and New York.
(I’m so angry; I’m so angry that I must choose; I’m so angry to come to this realization)
This weekend I was in Richmond with good friends and they tossed an option on the table. On the way down to visit them, I spoke to my sister, and there was another option on the table. I have been speaking (for once, true things, vulnerable things) and people have been listening, people have been responding, and they have all been giving me options. So many options, so many good ones.
[The handful of bad ones, discarded to the wind – I’ve no need of those]
But, despite the plethora of options, and the fact that all of them would lead to good outcomes – I know that, I don’t worry at all – the ultimate fact is that I must choose.
I must make a choice.
My best friend, today, asked me: “What do you want?” And I told him: “I left my heart in London, but the work I need to do is in New York. London is my vanity project; New York is where I actually could help change the world.”
He smiled at me. We have nearly half of September together: 10 days. 10 days for him to make his London my London, to make London our London, to make my heart pulse with the excitement at being at the center of the world, the place from which we count our seconds and our hours.
10 days in a place that I’ve wanted to live in for 10 years. A place that I can sink into every nook and cranny; a place more real and visceral to me than the touch of water sliding through my fingers and pooling in my palm.
How does one choose between what one wants and what one needs? How does one choose between a desire and a passion?
How does one choose? What choice will I make?
There is only one answer.