Summer Lovin’: Every Decision You Make is the Right One.
Chocolate Chip is a recent recipient of her Master’s degree in Library Science. She loves to read more than anything else, but she also cooks like crazy when she has the extra income. CC is also the proud owner of two of the laziest Jack Russell terriers in existence. She promises to start her own blog someday soon!
The girls and guests of COC have dedicated their blog posts to the stories of summer. Now that Labor Day has come and gone, school is on the minds of thousands of people across the country. If you are not returning to school (or assisting someone who is), you are undoubtedly reliving the bevy of emotions that follow the start of a new school year. The slightly rubbery smell that wooshed from your new backpack as you opened it for the first time brought both anxiety and excitement. This year, you will be organized; you will keep your folders in order, placing returned tests in the left pocket and worksheets on the right. You will attend every, yes, EVERY after school meeting of the Rotary Club, no matter how badly you wanted to go home to a microwave pizza and some Maury Povich. You will save time in the morning by planning your outfits the night before, laying them out on your bed so it appeared as if Flat Stanley had stopped by for a nap. Every September, you made a conscientious decision to be better than the year before, to rule the school in your own special way.
Still, it took more than just a school year resolution to quell the anxieties that stirred when the bus rounded the corner to pick you up for the first day of school. From a young age, we are taught that every decision we make has consequences. How can you ever be sure that the decisions you make are the right ones?
I pondered this question as I crossed over the Throgs Neck Bridge on my way from my parents’ house on Long Island to graduate school in Northeast Ohio. I looked to my left and said a silent goodbye to Manhattan, the city that I always assumed would show me my life’s purpose.
For many young adults, living and working in the nearest big city is a sign of success. Being born and bred on Long Island, I always assumed that New York City would become my new home. So, when it was time to research graduate schools, my first stop was Manhattan. I was slightly familiar with the lights that lie beyond Times Square; I had completed some undergraduate coursework there while living in a dorm in the Financial District. I believed that New York had everything to offer; I would have access to the best internships and the most successful people in their fields. I was meant to be there.
Of course, after the romantic fog of trendy suits and power lunches cleared, I realized that my pocketbook would not allow me to stay. I needed to attend school in a place where I could afford to feed myself, so I began to look at life in less expensive states.
That’s why, eight hours after waving goodbye to Manhattan, I was standing amongst a pile of unpacked boxes in my studio apartment in Ohio. I didn’t understand what I was doing there; my brain felt fuzzy, like it was mired in static.
As a child, I regularly visited my mother’s brother and his family in their home about an hour east of Columbus. After we took turns saying coffee and hot dog and laughing hysterically at our different accents, we would listen to horror stories about life in their scenic little town. As one of the only Jewish families in the neighborhood, they were often disgusted by uncondemned incidents of blatant racism, sexism and anti-Semitism. In 2008, my aunt seethed as she recounted an incident where a high school teacher changed his ring tone to The Jeffersons’ theme song, then told everyone within earshot that it was going to become our new national anthem. After stories like this one, I breathed a sigh of relief upon returning to New York; I would feel safe in a town where bigotry was expressed in whispers behind closed doors instead of through raucous laughter in a high school.
And yet, here I was, passing a church kiosk that blared, “Keep America a Christian Nation.” Here I was, listening to a magazine salesman tell me that the expensive price for a subscription was “so Jewish,” a noncommittal grin plastered on my face because I am too afraid to slam the door.
Life was not supposed to lead me to the Midwest. Had I taken enough time to really think about how much I would miss while living in the middle of nowhere? If Manhattan was where I wanted to start a career, why wasn’t I there? What had I done?
I felt tears cloud my eyes when I found a Mets game on a syndicated television channel. I called my mom to tell her about my latest recurring dream; I am back in her apartment in New York, throwing myself around the room and hysterically crying because I have to return to school. After recounting this emotional dream that left me dragging the next morning, she would respond in an infuriating tone that I would eventually make friends, find a job, and enjoy life in a new setting.
“There’s no such thing as a ‘wrong’ decision, and there’s no such thing as a ‘right’ one. You just make decisions and then keep on going.”
Like most cherished mentors, my mother is a real-life version of Dumbledore; she gives me frustrating advice that does not satiate my immediate emotional state, but its meaning becomes evident as time passes. Eventually, I settled into life in Ohio. I got a job in a small library, gaining valuable experience without having to fight to the death with other job candidates. I used my income to explore my new home. I ate at fantastic independently-owned restaurants, and during the summer, I talked to local agriculturalists and artisans at the farmer’s market every weekend. I also hiked a lot, which helped compensate for my heavy caloric intake. My college was close to a national park, so I took my dogs there at least once a week. We hiked through the hilly forest, stopping at a deep ravine to listen to the peaceful sound of silence, something that I had never experienced in the heavy noise pollution of Long Island.
I learned that the Midwest is not all white sheets and banjos. I discovered positive qualities of living outside of New York. I enjoyed how people acknowledged the presence of other sentient beings in public spaces. While working in Akron, I passed the same bus stop every day on my walk to my car, and I always greeted the woman who waited there. Even though we knew nothing about each other, we always greeted each other with a smile. One day, she even complimented my new short haircut. “Very flattering!” she exclaimed.
More importantly, I made friends with various Ohioans of different ages, races and sexual orientations. Most of them hailed from various parts of the state, and we regularly explored the empty back roads and crowded city streets to which they were accustomed. One night, as I sat on my friend’s back porch in southern Ohio, sipping a glass of wine and admiring the depth of a starry sky without light pollution, I realized that my mother had been right all along. Not only did I build a life for myself in Ohio; I thrived in my new environment. My decision to live in Ohio helped me trounce my own prejudices and gain valuable work experience. It showed me that life outside of New York could be both peaceful and enjoyable.
Two months ago, I left my life in Ohio, drove past Manhattan, and settled in Portland, Maine. In this industrialized city, I find myself missing the quiet creak of crickets outside my apartment. As fall approaches, I find myself missing the apple orchards of my former home. I want to sit outside and drink apple cider underneath a warm blanket, feeling comforted by the gentle bump of a friend’s leg against mine.
Life here feels gray and unmoving.
I called my mom and felt myself tear up. “I left my job, my friends, everything,” I sobbed. “What was I thinking? I made the wrong decision.”
Through the tears, I know that I will soon take tentative steps onto the concrete. I will organize my folder: brochures on the left, bus schedules on the right. I will lay my clothes out the night before, grab my new backpack and set off in this new city.
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Every Decision You Make is the Right One is part of our Summer Series.
