Progress Report: Operation FILWDC.

I was speechless.

The lights. The monuments. The moon. The reflections on the water.

Everything was so beautiful. Everything was so breathtaking.

For a half second I forgot where I was. I found myself in a state of deep appreciation and wonder.

And then, I quickly snapped back into reality. And then, I caught myself on the verge of thinking myself out of those magical feelings. And then, I let myself go again. I let myself fall even deeper into the wonderfully intoxicating feelings.

Why am I still so resistant towards falling in lust with this city? Once upon a time, I wrote about Cheating on Europe. While this post obviously discussed my feelings towards the country of Europe, it also predicted the feelings I am currently experiencing towards Boston. I find myself constantly talking about how much I love Boston, how much I miss Boston and – most importantly – how I am surprised to find that I like Washington, DC as much as I do, but that I will never love it nearly as much as I love(d) the city of Boston.

The fact of the matter is that I am starting to fall for this city (truth) and it makes me feel like I’ve left Boston behind. Granted, I have left Boston behind, at least from a literal standpoint, but a large part of me is still desperately clinging to the city that most recently captured my heart.

However, I do want to be open to a new lust – dare I say love? – affair. As I said 10 months ago, “cities are fantastic lovers.” And I’m starting to realize that DC has the potential to take me for quite a ride.

Note: Operation FILWDC stands for “Operation Fall in Love with DC,” a project (so to speak) I began shortly after I moved to our nation’s capitol. Visit Operation Fall in Love with DC to read up on the back story of the operation.

Operation Fall in Love with DC.

Everything has fallen into place so perfectly for me over the last few months. I have an amazing and intellectually stimulating job where I am surrounded by interesting and fun people. I live in close proximity to my family and many of my very best friends. I have a great apartment of my very own. I’m young. I’m healthy. I’m happy. Life is good.

BUT I am not in Boston. And as much as I try to shake it, I can’t ignore the fact that I still miss the city terribly. At least once every single day (yes, every single day), I am struck with the sharp realization that I. am. not. still. there.

You would think that by now I would have adjusted, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. As much as I love everything about being where I am right now, I am not in love with where I am right now. Yes, there is a difference.

And so, on that note, I have decided to embark on Operation Fall in Love with DC, Operation FILWDC, if you will. I know that a piece of my heart will always remain in the city of Boston, just as a piece of my heart will forever reside in the city of Antwerp, but in order for me to be completely present in the here and now, I have to let go. I have to open my mind to the possibility of loving this place.

I know it won’t be easy. And I know it won’t happen over night. But I also know that definitely it won’t happen if I remain resistant towards the idea. And so, starting today, with a little bit of sunshine on my side, I will officially begin the Operation.

Stay tuned.

I love the newness.

One of my favorite parts about going someplace new is the opportunity for fresh exploration. I love everything about it…

I love passing different faces on the street. I love discovering interesting restaurants and hidden hideaways. I love learning about the subtle nuances that make each and every place unique in a way that cannot be duplicated. I even love getting slightly lost or turned around because a little misdirection forces me to quickly get to know my new surroundings.

It’s all part of the adventure.

It’s all part of the adventure that I got unexpectedly caught up in during my last trip up to Washington, D.C.

It is no secret that I am having a hard time adjusting to my Boston –> D.C. transition. I still don’t go more than a couple days without mentioning my love for Boston or how much I miss New England. Actually, that may be too generous…I don’t think I have even gone ONE day without mentioning something concerning my beloved Boston.

That being said, I think I experienced a turning point during my last trip up to the city that could soon be my new home. I didn’t necessarily fall head over heels in love with the District, but I think I may have developed a little crush. Granted, I don’t think my crush was on the city itself, but rather with the newness of the experience. Regardless, I feel like it’s a good step in the right direction.

We keep moving forward, opening new doors, and doing new things, because we’re curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths. — Walt Disney

I don’t like the Metro.

Yesterday morning I had to travel back into DC for another job interview. Over the last six days, much to my surprise, I had navigated successfully through the city via my car and via the Metro. My iPhone has been more of a best friend to me throughout the last week of my life than ever before. The Maps application is amazing. Without it I would have gotten lost more times than I could even keep track of. I’ve been so proud of myself. I’ve remained calm and collected during times where I would typically be a stressed out nutcase.

Yesterday was no different. I knew how to get from Point A (my friend’s house in Arlington, VA) to Point B (the Metro station in Pentagon City) to Point C/D/E (the Farragut West Metro stop/Starbucks/the location of my interview). I didn’t even need my Maps application!

I arrived at the Pentagon City Metro station with no issues whatsoever. It was then when I realized I had to figure out what kind of Metro ticket would be most appropriate (when I came into the city last Thursday for a couple interviews my friend had given me her SmartCard so I didn’t have to worry about it). The Metro system is a bit screwy, I remember her telling me, in that the fares aren’t constant. They change depending on the distance traveled and whether or not you cross into the District, Virginia or Maryland. I had no idea how much it would cost for me to get into DC and back so I figured I’d get a one-day pass and play it safe.

The transaction went well, but when I went to use my pass it didn’t work. I tried several times before finally going over to ask a Metro worker about my issue. When I told him my pass wasn’t working, he gave me a cold look and informed me that the one-day passes don’t start working until 9:30am. Great, I thought to myself, I definitely should have realized that. Oh well, there was nothing I could do about it at that point. Instead, I tried to explain to him that I only needed to go into the city and right back out. I only needed to ride the Metro twice. Couldn’t he just let me through? No. Apparently he could not. Apparently there was nothing he could do. It was at this point when I became positively furious with the Metro (not to mention the cold, unhelpful Metro employee). I knew for a fact that if this had happened in Boston, they would have let me through. No questions asked.

I walked away fuming, mumbling not exactly under my breath about how this wouldn’t have happened on the T and how ridiculous it was for him to have responded to me the way he did. I begrudgingly walked back to the pay station where I noticed they had a one-way round trip pass. I laughed to myself. I guess I probably should have gone that route in the first place. After spending about 10 minutes trying to figure out how to select and purchase this pass, I eventually gave up and simply got a ticket with $15 on it. Great, I thought. I just spent $22.50 to ride the Metro twice.

I tried to pocket my anger as I boarded the blue train and I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was relatively empty as I sat down.

“I was going to sit there.”

[insert loud, incredibly mean and annoyed tone of voice]

I looked up to see a pregnant woman standing before me. I immediately got up and offered her my seat, apologizing and telling her that I hadn’t seen her at first. She responded by first refusing my offer, then she rolled her eyes and sat down without a smile, much less a thank you.

I’m not sure exactly why this second Metro encounter bothered me so much. I know pregnant women have a difficult time riding public transportation and I imagine that they deal with a lot of rude and inconsiderate people. But – I was not one of those people! I always give up my seat – to pregnant women, to women with small children, to elderly people, to people with disabilities, even to people who simply look perfectly able to stand, but appear to be uncomfortable doing so. I was shocked by this woman’s reaction to my politeness and willingness to offer up my seat. Whenever a situation like this happened in Boston, people were always so happy and grateful.

Looking back on yesterday morning, now that I’ve had about 24 hours to calm myself down, I realize that neither incident was really that big of a deal. I also realize how much I miss Boston…I miss the city, I miss the people, I even miss the T. And finally, I realize that I have been kind of hard on the city of DC. Due to my love towards Boston, I haven’t exactly given the city a fair chance.

This isn’t to say that I will all of a sudden fall in love with the city of DC. I truly hope that will eventually come to be, but I know it will undoubtedly take time. This is simply to say that I’m going to try harder to give DC the benefit of the doubt. It isn’t DC’s fault that it isn’t as fabulous as Boston (sorry, I just couldn’t resist). So in fairness to myself and to DC, I will now adopt a more open and forgiving mindset. Yes, Metro that goes for you too – but please try to be nicer and more forgiving yourself.

Did the last 3 years even happen?

The last 3 years of my life were amazing. I graduated from college. I moved to Boston. I got my master degree. I completed my first “real world” job. And I became myself.

Sure it may sound a bit extreme to say that I “became myself” through these pretty typical life transitions and landmarks. But I truly believe that I transformed into the person I am today – and the person I will be throughout the rest of my life – during the years in which I was in Boston. While embarking on a countless number of changes and firsts, I also discovered a lot about myself: who I am, who I was, who I want to be and what I want out of life (as well as, and perhaps more importantly, what I don’t want out of life)…

With these discoveries emerged my decision to leave Boston in search of what I want(ed) most.

And then – Poof! – All of a sudden, everything changed.

Life is funny like that.

I haven’t even been away from Boston for an entire week, and yet, I feel like the last 3 years of my life never even happened. Seriously. I even had to pinch myself when I woke up this morning. And yesterday morning. And even the morning before that.

Boston? Grad School? Job? It feels as if none of it actually happened. In fact, I feel like I have reversed my life by 3 years. I feel as if I have been teleported back to a past life, and yet, it doesn’t really feel like a past life at all. It feels like a life I never left.

And I’m absolutely terrified. I don’t want Boston, my experiences in Boston and most importantly, my self-discoveries made in Boston to feel like a dream or a fantasy or a figment of my imagination…please, let it feel real.

Please, let it all feel real.

Goodbye.

…such a simple word for something that is so far from simple. How could seven little letters possibly tell the whole story?

Goodbye just doesn’t seem to do the experience (or the people) to which (or whom) you are saying goodbye justice.

Goodbye is too short. Just two syllables and it’s all over. It’s too quick — especially when quick is actually the opposite of what it (the people, the places, the moments, the experience…everything) was.

I wonder who decided that the word “goodbye” would be enough to represent what it actually means. And when are goodbyes actually good?

I have a tendency to to prolong goodbyes. I’ve been saying goodbye to Boston for several weeks now. Some people might think that this would make the transition even more difficult, but for me, it has helped ease the discomfort of the change. It has allowed me to take time appreciating everything (and everyone) I love before having to actually leave this city. And it has allowed me to start coming to terms with the final goodbye, the final moment when my bags are packed and I drive off into the sunset towards my new life. I know it may seem silly and a bit dramatic, but please try to excuse me as I perpetuate and romanticize this goodbye. Because for me, seven letters just aren’t enough.

“How can you leave this place?”

As soon as the words hit my eardrums, I can feel the tears forming in my eyes…again.

Tears are seem to be pretty standard for me these days.

“Seriously, how can you leave this place? I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.”

Such questions seem to be the basis of all my conversations and thoughts these days. I’m in a constant roller coaster pattern. Happy, sad, confused, sad, happy, confused.

I’m leaving Boston. Even as I type the words it doesn’t seem real. How can it be real? I love it here. I love everything about it. Okay, fine, I don’t love everything. Hence the reason(s) I’m leaving. I don’t love my job. I don’t love that most of my family and friends are hundreds of miles away. But I do love Boston. I love, love, love Boston.

Again, I’m experiencing heartbreak because of a place. This is my third heart-wrenching breakup with a place. The first was Antwerp. The second was JMU. And now Boston.

My breakup with Antwerp was the worst. I stayed depressed for an entire month. All I wanted to do was rewrite my journal – seriously, I rewrote every single word – and look at my photographs from the experience. I tried to cling to the moments. I just couldn’t let go. In fact, I don’t think I ever completely let go. My heart still hurts when I think about it.

My breakup with JMU wasn’t quite as bad. Don’t get me wrong, I still consider JMU to be the happiest place on Earth. But when it was time to say goodbye, I was mostly ready to move on. And I knew that my new adventure in Boston was just around the corner.

And now, I’m breaking up with Boston. For some reason, it seems different this time. So please, be patient with me, as I explore this transition. Please allow me to take my time (warning: it may take awhile) saying goodbye to Boston and opening my mind up to the possibilities of my future A.B. [After Boston]…

Manipulating my dreams

When I was younger, I was endlessly fascinated by my dreams. I even kept a journal where I would rapidly write them down when I first woke up in the morning so I would be sure to remember the involuntary patterns of mind. I spent hours trying to decode the meanings and messages of my dreams.

As I grew up, however, the curiosity about my dreamlike state of mind gradually subsided. Don’t get me wrong, I still find dreams to be extremely intriguing. I guess I just don’t have as much time for dream dissection.

But this morning was different.

I woke up saddened, angry and confused. And then I realized that which I was upset about didn’t really happen. It was just a dream.

Now let’s pause for a few quick tidbits of information that will inevitably come into play later (in this entry as well as in many of my entries that will soon follow)…

1. I love Starbucks
2. I love “my” Starbucks baristas
3. I recently quit my job in Boston
4. In a few weeks I will be leaving Boston
5. I have been flip flopping back & forth about my feelings regarding the later two points

Okay, back to my dream last night…

It was just like any other afternoon. Around 2 or 3 o’clock: Starbucks break. It was often the only precious moments of personal time etched into my entire work day. As my fellow coffee-addicted colleague and I walked into “my” Starbucks, the baristas greeted us by name (actually, they only greeted me by name, but that’s beside the point, although I suppose it could be relevant later). We ordered our drinks. And for some odd reason I ordered my morning drink (a double tall non-fat extra-hot latte), which was strange because I tend to mix things up in the afternoon, but I suppose that’s beside the point. As we waited for our drinks, we launched into our routine round of afternoon gossip.

And then it happened…or didn’t happen, rather. They never called out my name. They never called out my drink.

At first we weren’t too concerned. After all, we always have A LOT to talk about. But the clock kept ticking so eventually I casually asked, “Excuse me, I just wanted to check on my drink. I think it may have gotten lost or something.” And then the barista (note: this was not actually one of “my” baristas, but some random dream intruder barista) let me have it…

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Your drink has been sitting here this entire time you’ve been chit chatting away!”

I was flabbergasted. “What?!” I responded quietly, cautiously, ” I don’t see it…”

“Right here,” she says as she holds up a short (and by this point the opposite of extra-hot) latte.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but that isn’t what I ordered.”

Just as the words released themselves from my lips, another barista chimes in, “Of course not. That’s typical. She always has a complaint.”

At this point, I was positively speechless – especially because this second barista was one of “my” baristas (in real life, outside of this dream – or should we say nightmare – encounter)! I never complain, I thought to myself! If anything, I hold back my complaints…even when I have something legitimate to complain about! Plus, everyone here loves me! Why would they ever think – much less say – such a terrible, not to mention untrue, remark?

I woke up shaken and hurt. Why had they been so mean? So out of character? I immediately thought about how frustrating it was going to be to go out of my way to go to a different Starbucks on the way to work. And then it hit me: it was just a dream.

Suddenly I was filled with an amazing sense of relief. And in more ways than one. First of all, I was incredibly grateful that that horrible Starbucks experience didn’t actually happen. And secondly, I started to wonder if my subconscious nighttime thoughts were trying to send me a message. Sure, nobody is going to kick me out of the city of Boston (or my favorite Starbucks for that matter) by being mean to me, but it is time to leave. I believe my dream was trying to tell me to let go. To let go of my Starbucks, often (as crazy as it may sound) the best part of my day. To let go of Boston. And on a deeper lever, to let go of my comfort zone.

Maybe it’s a bit of a stretch, but if I have to manipulate the meaning of my dreams to make me feel better about this incredibly bittersweet transition, than that is exactly what I’m going to do…but, and please hear this my dear subconsciousness, I don’t need another dream like that to convince me any further!

Why do(n’t) I fall?

This past weekend I took a nice little holiday to New York City. It was the first time I’d actually been to The City that Never Sleeps when I wasn’t just passing through en route to another destination or there for something work-related.

It was great to finally be a New York City tourist! And I was lucky enough to have a very good friend serve as my personal tour guide around the city – I got to see everything! Well, not quite everything, as that would be virtually impossible in one weekend, but a good amount. I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, I experienced the chaos of Times Square, I pretended like I worked on Wall Street, I explored Central Park and I tasted the famous frrrozen hot chocolate at Serendipity. I had a spectacular time. But I didn’t fall in love with the city. And that would have been just fine if only I hadn’t all of a sudden realized that a part of me actually wanted to fall in love with the Big Apple.

So I wonder…why didn’t I?

Why do I fall in love with certain cities, but not others? I fell in love with Boston immediately. Within a handful of seconds of first stepping foot in the city, I knew that I loved it. The same thing happened with the city of Antwerp. The very thought of Antwerp still makes me feel giddy (and terribly nostalgic) inside. It certainly isn’t unusual for me to fall in love with cities. But why Boston? Why Antwerp? Why Chicago, San Francisco and Boulder? And why not New York City?

I wonder, could falling in love with a city be anything like falling in love, or in my case, falling in lust, with a guy?

Perhaps.

What do I look for in a guy? I look for someone who has a passion for life. I look for a good sense of humor. I look for intelligence. I look for someone interesting and exciting. I look for someone who can keep me on my toes. And of course, attractiveness never hurts either.

I suppose all the cities I’ve fallen in love with have those qualities as well. Well, to a certain extent…

Boston is definitely a passionate city. Just ask any Red Sox fan. Boston is definitely an intelligent city. Just count the colleges and universities. Boston definitely knows how to keep things exciting. Just look at the crazy New England weather. And Boston is definitely beautiful. There is no denying that.

Antwerp is cultured and vivacious. Chicago is friendly and fun. San Francisco is open minded and optimistic. Boulder is healthy and unique. Yes, all the cities I’ve fallen in love with possess the same qualities I seem to look for in a guy.

But that still doesn’t really explain why I didn’t fall in love with NYC. The Big Apple also has many of the qualities I tend to look for in a guy (and in a city so it seems), but there just wasn’t a spark. I suppose you can’t exactly tell yourself what city to love just as you can’t exactly tell yourself who to love.

Sorry, New York City…I wanted to fall in love with you, I really did. But I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.

Cheating on Europe.

Yesterday I explored my tendency to fall into quick, fleeting and lustful love…

Today I would like to take a look at how I am capable of experiencing a far deeper and much more meaningful form of love…

Let’s take another quick trip down the memory lane of an old journal -

October 3, 2005 7pm

Is it possible for your one true love to be a place instead of a person? Is it possible to be in love with a particular way of life? Is it possible for that way of life and the way it makes you feel to be more important than anything else, anyone else? Is that selfish? Sure, everyone has heard of workaholics, people in love with working, obsessed with their jobs. What about Europeaholics? How can you reach a healthy compromise if all you really want is one thing? Nothing else, nobody else compares to how that one thing makes you feel. Being away from that one thing – that one place – leaves you heartbroken everyday. Is it possible to feel heartbroken even though a person wasn’t responsible for the breaking of your heart? And what if you do find someone…are you then cheating on Europe? Your one true love. Or just cheating on yourself by settling?

October 11, 2005 5:40pm

WHAT was I thinking? Cheating on Europe??!! . . .

It’s interesting to look back at these old journal entries. I keep telling myself that I’ve changed so much, however, when I sneak a peek back at my old thoughts, I find that quite the opposite is actually true. Which I guess is comforting to a certain extent. Yet a little unsettling at the same time.

I’m happy to report that I have gotten over my heartbreak that was caused by the country of Europe oh so many years ago (or so it seems). Actually, that isn’t the best way to put it. I will never “get over it”…that experience will always hold a very, very special place in my heart. I think about it almost every day. But in a less psychotic sort of way. I reflect on it as a once in a lifetime moment that I was extremely lucky to experience. But even though my thought process is far more mellow now, years removed from the moment, I often find that I still feel sad when I think about it. But it’s a sweet sadness…a sadness laced with the happiness of a fond and wonderful memory.

These days I find myself having the same intense and drastic feelings when I think about the city of Boston. A city that I still call home. A city that I have come to love more than I ever could have possibly imagined. A city that gets me. And vice versa. I know that must sound crazy. But I never claimed not to be crazy…

But seriously, how ridiculous is it that I find myself missing a place I haven’t even left yet?

I have had some pretty incredible love affairs with places – JMU, Europe (Antwerp, Belgium in particular)…and now Boston. These affairs have been far more intense, far more meaningful and have had a far greater influence on me than any relationship I’ve ever had with a person. Correction: these affairs have had a far greater influence on me than any romantic relationship I’ve ever had with a person.

Perhaps that’s why when I fall in love with a place, I fall hard.

Cities are fantastic lovers. They don’t cheat. They are full of surprises. And they never say goodbye. I’m always the one to end the relationship.

And yet, I’m always the one to feel the heartbreak afterwards. Or in this case, with Boston, before. Which is exactly what causes me to be utterly petrified of severing this love.