I'm writing this post from a coffee shop. It's something I never do. For one, I hate overhearing people's conversations when I'm not actually trying to listen. I don't care about how bitter the girl with the red hair is about her recent break up with the cute but insensitive guy she met at Buffalo Wild Wings (girlfriend, get a clue), and even less about the middle-aged Japanese-American's short lived career as a clown in the southern Texas rodeo circuit (sir, you should have left that tie with the bulls). I also don't drink coffee.
I'm here because I, a 21-year-old, die-hard member of the internet generation, willingly and with full mental clarity disconnected my own home access to the World Wide Web.
I yelled "What the FUCK?" and "WHYYYY?" for about an hour in between short bursts of slamming my head into various wooden, ceramic, and plastic objects. But don't worry - there is plenty of ibuprofen in the world to keep my body from feeling the physical pain of being... disconnected.
But there is a good reason for this. A very, very good reason. Mid-range internet access from Time Warner Cable in Raleigh, NC is $54.37 per month. My BELOVED "1 DVD-in-the-mail plus unlimited instant viewing" Netflix account is $9.99. My recent upgrade to Hulu Plus (justified by the Criterion Collection, which has all the most amazing movies you ever need to see) was $9.99. My average monthly impulse buys from eBay, Amazon, and the like (which are born from bored browsing to avoid responsibility) are $15.00. By not having access to the internet from my warm and comfy bed, I will be saving around $89.35 per month.
That's $357.40 I won't spend by the end of August.
Which is when I'm moving.
To New York City.
Want to read that again?
In August I'm moving to New York City.
I want to type that again, in caps, with cursing for emphasis, just to make sure you're understanding me clearly.
I'M FUCKING MOVING TO FUCKING NEW YORK CITY IN FUCKING AUGUST.
About a month ago I was laying on my bed. I had just finished watching another season of Roseanne on Netflix, and I just stared at the ceiling. Nothing was happening. I wasn't making anything happen. I was still. My life was still. This is the first time I told myself that I'm the one who has to make my life what I want it to be. I can't keep waiting around for the puzzle pieces to fall into place. I have to put them together myself. And even cut new ones to replace those that have been lost or thrown out. NYC is a big, terrifying, exciting, life-changing, challenging, fucking expensive piece, and hopefully one that will make the picture of my life a lot brighter.
I'm abandoning all reasonable thought and action. I'm doing the thing not many people want me to do. I'm not finishing school. I'm selling my car, my pans, my bike, my bronze shower caddy, even some of my shoes. I'm doing everything I can to follow my dreams. I'm doing everything I can to experience what it means to be alive, and happy, and hurt, and cultured, and creative, and successful, and broke. I'm doing everything I can to be in a place where the concrete loves my shoes more than the ground of any other place I've lived. And perhaps NYC is not exactly what I'm searching for, but it's a damn good place to start.