The Dream I Didn’t Kill

I’ve been quiet here lately, busy with travel, life, and finishing a large writing project (as all my IG followers know…), but today felt important enough to pause for.

Today, I have officially been in New York City for ten years.

Let’s just stop for a second and savor that.

Ten years ago, a very different iteration of myself arrived here, wondering how the hell I was going to stay afloat amid so many variables and unknown outcomes. I remember asking my mom to meet me in New York (I’d been in Los Angeles right before for this concert at the Hollywood Bowl) and promptly breaking down in tears outside a subway station because it all seemed too big and confusing. I felt like I was going to be swallowed whole.

And the magnitude of that feeling didn’t just come from transit confusion or a fear of getting random tetanus from city garbage. It came from an intense, deep-rooted fear of not being good enough to keep the dream of living here from slipping through my fingers forever. It was terrifying because I knew that if I tried and failed to make something of myself here, I couldn’t easily retreat into pretending it was okay, or convince myself I hadn’t really wanted it anyway.

I’ve quoted him so many goddamned times before, but I always think back to Paulo Coelho’s foreword in The Alchemist and his presentation of the four obstacles that keep so many of us from reaching the dreams we have for ourselves, particularly the fourth: the fear of realizing the dream for which we fought all our lives.

Excuse me while I quote him extensively here, but you’ll get where I am going:

“Oscar Wilde said: “Each man kills the thing he loves.”

And it’s true. The mere possibility of getting what we want fills the soul of the ordinary person with guilt. We look around at all those who have failed to get what they want and feel that we do not deserve to get what we want either. We forget about all the obstacles we overcame, all the suffering we endured, all the things we had to give up in order to get this far. I have known a lot of people who, when their personal calling was within their grasp, went on to commit a series of stupid mistakes and never reached their goal—when it was only a step away.”

Coelho’s four obstacles became something of a lifeline when I made the leap to New York, reminding me, even in the darkest moments, to hold on and face the things I was most afraid to look at directly. I was scared that all the things I hoped were true about myself - that I was resilient enough, smart enough, talented enough as a writer - weren’t true at all. Sometimes it felt like I was trying to claw my way out of a slippery mud pit just to prove otherwise.

But I held on. And I knew I had to face the demons, if only to be able to say that I tried.

New York forced me to peel away all the surface layers of myself and reveal something much more primal and vulnerable underneath. At first, that vulnerability felt fragile. Weak, even. But over the years, I began to understand the strength in it. I started to appreciate the most fundamental parts of who I was: determined, creative, resourceful, and, yes, a little bit crazy in all the best ways.

This city has taught me to take all of that and ask for what I wanted, even when the outcome seemed impossible. Jobs, promotions, apartments, opportunities…so many of the things I have now came from learning how to ask, how to try, and how to keep going even when I felt ridiculous for wanting so much.

I love a good character arc: the kind where you meet someone at the beginning of a story and, by the end, can hardly believe they are the same person. And when I look back at the chances I’ve taken over the past ten years, I feel incredibly proud of the person I became.

Would I want to do all of it again? Well….a girl can only eat boiled eggs for every meal to save money and survive so many times (ha). And in all honesty, none of this was easy. But if there was a payoff as big as this waiting at the end of another ten-year stretch, I’d say yes to it every time.

Since I was very young, I’ve always loved the idea of life as some grand, Tolkien-esque adventure, full of unexpected turns and strange little tests that only make sense when you look back on them later. I also always had the feeling that some part of my destiny was rooted in the Manhattan schist, and I am grateful every single day for the circumstances that finally pushed me off the precipice of my hopes and dreams and flung me into the unknown.

Ultimately, coming here and doing all the things I have done here, has - to date - been one of the greatest adventures of my life. And I am so grateful that the scared little version of me from ten years ago took that chance, because she eventually discovered that all the things she hoped were true about herself really were.

It feels important to note that none of this grand adventure happened in isolation. To every friend, family member, mentor, colleague, roommate, neighbor, bartender, fellow dreamer, and unexpected character who has loved me, challenged me, cheered me on, opened a door, offered a couch, sent a text, bought me a drink, read my words, or simply reminded me who I was when I forgot: thank you. You are all part of the story and I am forever in your debt.

And perhaps that’s part of the lesson, too. We take the leap ourselves, but we are carried, steadied, witnessed, and changed by the people we meet along the way.

So, my ten-year advice for anyone reading is simple.

I’d like to think all of us have dreams and hopes for our future, big and small. When we cleaned out my dad’s home after he unexpectedly passed away at 52, one of the things that stayed with me most was how many things he had saved for a rainy day. Things he was excited about…meant to use, or do, or experience eventually.

There is a particular kind of heartbreak in finding evidence of someone’s future after they are gone: little artifacts of hope, still waiting for a day that never comes. And I think that experience changed something fundamental in me: it made me understand that life is too short to keep waiting for the perfect conditions, the safer moment, the clearer sign, or the version of ourselves we imagine will finally be ready.

Life is too brief to keep the things we love tucked away for some future version of ourselves who may never get the chance to enjoy them. It’s too short to stand one step away from the life we fought for and sabotage it because fear got the best of us.

So make the most of right now and say yes. Try. Go after the things you want with your whole heart. Let the dream be big. Let it scare you a little (or a lot). Let it ask more of you than you think you can give.

And when you get close enough to touch it, don’t kill the thing you love.

Instead, let it be yours.

Here’s to ten more years. xx