The curated collection of photographs adorning the walls of Ava’s charming Brooklyn apartment—a faded image of a vintage truck, a fox dressed in formal attire, and a striking monochrome close-up of wheat—taunts me silently. Each piece, alongside her impressive library of classic literature and an array of vintage vinyl records resting against an old turntable, conveys a singular message: Reflect on the path you did not choose.
During a recent business trip, I strolled through the picturesque backstreets of Brooklyn with my college friend, Ava, and her companions. She animatedly pointed out the unique architecture, delightful eateries, and the rich history of the neighborhood. Laughter filled the air as they recounted memories from their favorite bars and restaurants, sharing insider tips on the best dishes to try. It was difficult to mask my envy.
Fifteen years ago, in my early twenties, I was captivated by the idea of moving to New York City without ever visiting. At the conclusion of my college senior year in 2000, I announced to my then-boyfriend that I intended to apply for an internship at CBS in New York. We shared the same major, and he was supportive, even securing the internship while I was left behind. Yet, I ventured to New York that same year, caught in a whirlwind of excitement and anxiety. The city’s unforgiving streets were a stark reminder of my decision to pursue a dream I was hesitant to fully embrace.
New York was everything I imagined and more. I fell deeply in love, wandering the streets and envisioning myself in various neighborhoods. I would peer through apartment windows and browse “For Rent” signs, all while listening to conversations on the subway and searching for job opportunities. However, I never had the courage to take that leap; I remained a frightened 23-year-old, afraid of the potential for failure.
Loving New York City felt akin to having a crush on someone seemingly unattainable. The yearning was intense. Eventually, I began to focus on the negatives—exorbitant costs, overcrowding, and an impersonal atmosphere—convincing myself that perhaps my initial desire was misguided. I decided that moving to New York was impractical.
Much like that elusive crush, New York faded from my memory. In the decade since my last visit, I married, left a career behind, became a mother of two, relocated twice, built a new career as a writer, and began anew after escaping an abusive relationship. Meanwhile, Ava had made New York her home, cultivating a successful career, forming a vibrant social circle, and embracing a life filled with adventures. Listening to her stories illuminated the intimacy she shared with the city, stirring my jealousy.
Over the course of two days, I felt as if I were living in a contemporary version of It’s a Wonderful Life. Confronted with an alternate reality I had not chosen, I was reminded of the life I could have led had I not been paralyzed by fear. Perhaps I could have found contentment in a Brooklyn apartment, enjoying weekend antiquing trips and business excursions abroad. Maybe the struggles of divorce and single motherhood could have been avoided.
As we wandered through Brooklyn after a delightful evening with her friends, I expressed my admiration for Ava’s life. She wrapped her arm around mine, slightly tipsy from the cocktails, and shared that while she loved her life, she too felt something was missing. Her friend echoed this sentiment, discussing the challenges of forming romantic connections in a city as vast and diverse as New York. I hadn’t realized that I was surrounded by three attractive, intelligent women in their late 30s, all of whom were still single. It appeared that New York City had captured their hearts, leaving little room for anything else.
The following day, as I explored the city on my own during a break from my conference, I reflected on the lives we lead: Ava’s, mine, and the one I chose not to pursue. I wandered aimlessly, following whichever direction the green light signaled. For an hour, I contemplated the choices we’ve made and the paths we take. While I didn’t reach any definitive closure or resolution, I recognized that the journey you follow is determined by the courage you possess at any given moment. Perhaps it’s as simple as embracing the path that offers a “go” signal.
Finding joy in the journey is what truly matters. If you can look back and say you did your best, and if you can look forward with hope for tomorrow, then that is what counts—regardless of your location, relationship status, or the number of curated photographs on your walls. Ultimately, it’s not about the physical space but the love and connections you nurture within it.
In our exploration of family planning and motherhood, you may also find valuable insights in our other blog posts, such as this one on home insemination and the BabyMaker at Home Insemination Kit, an authoritative source on the topic. You can also explore this excellent resource on pregnancy.
Summary
This reflective piece explores the author’s journey of self-discovery and the paths not taken, particularly regarding her relationship with New York City, juxtaposing her life choices with those of a friend who embraced the city and flourished. It emphasizes the importance of finding joy in the journey and nurturing meaningful connections, regardless of one’s circumstances.