I was just home for a long weekend.
Home means non-polluted air and sunshine (most of the time.)
Today, I returned to the Big Apple, for a three week stay before I can say goodbye to standardized testing and classrooms for a while.
The intense contrast between home and the city set my thoughts in motion.
At home, I’m a different kind of person. The big backyard begs for relaxation, the good food begs to be eaten. Everything about home makes me feel like a child again- maybe because the last time I lived there full time I was a child.
In NYC, I feel suddenly like a grown up. Living here is all about responsibility.
It’s up to me to get myself out the door every day, to make sure my laundry is done and buy nutritious food to put in the fridge.
With responsibility, comes power. I have the power to destroy my life, or turn it into something incredible.
The city urges me to reach for the stars, to dream bigger than I can in a small town.
And I do. I dream so big that people stare. People talk. People wonder why I think I can achieve what I want.
The city lets its citizens dream as high as the sky goes. The city also lends its naysayers and skeptics.
The bigger you dream, the bigger the club of people is to say you can’t do it.
Home may not have been the push I needed to get my dreams up in the air, but it’s where my dreams will come true.
At home, that backyard is full of a family that supports me and my dreams.
At home, that good food is cooked with so much love, you can’t help but eat all of it.
The city might breed responsibility but it’s hard to grow up without a childhood.
While I needed the city to show me that my dreams are possible, my home is where I know I’ll always be given the best support system in the world.
I’m just a girl, and my dreams are bigger than me on most days, but I live in the city, and in three weeks I’m heading home.
When I reach for the stars, I know I’ll fly.