the aha! moment.

I had the most peculiar thing happen to me yesterday. As I was leaving work, (late, of course. It seems, since I moved here I cannot seem to get out of work at least an hour after I am supposed to.) Anyway, I was on my iPhone, which, as a sidenote, I am completely obsessed with, talking to kati, and I went to Food Emporium to grab something for dinner. Absentmindedly, I totally left my wallet in my pocket and when I went to pay for my dinner, my wallet wasn't there.



For those of you that know me, you can assume what happened next.



But surprisingly enough, I kept my cool. I had to get home. I was 20 blocks and just had this feeling that if I was home, and I could check my bag properly, everything would be fine. As I stormed home, each block swifter than the next, I was busy on the phone trying to re-trace my steps. I finally reached my (hellacious) stairs and when I got to my apt, dumped the entire contents of my HUGE Marc Jacobs tote onto my pink couch, my wallet was nowhere to be found.



Dismally, I headed to my computer to begin cancelling this card, renewing that one, etc., when I got a call from an LA number.



It was hard to understand, but the gist was she was from my insurance company, someone had found my wallet with all my cards (my health insurance card among them) and that if I wanted it back, I could reach her at this number.



Sure enough, I immediately call the number, and the most precious woman answered and told me that I could pick up my wallet at her (high rise) apt. So I immediately (albeit after changing clothes) ran the 12 blocks to her place, and there it was. I gratefully accepted the small parcel, extended my sincerest gratitude, and gave her a huge gratis of BE stuff and encouraged her to walk the 2 blocks to visit me at my store anytime.



It just baffles me, that in this day in age, in New York no less, that there are honest people in the world. Not only was I extremely blessed, I, of course, started to pull out all of these hidden meanings of this little hiccup in my otherwise eerily routine Manhattan life.


Being here for over a month, essentially alone, I began to wonder, who am I? The kelly that I usually know, when faced with a similar situation, would've been a crying hysterical mess. Knowing full well that it would be all in vain, my coping mechanisms would be far different. Am I growing up? Am I hardening? Who am I becoming?


It's weird. So many people have this vision of moving to a city like New York. Shiny, glamourous, put together, and the epitome of success is all that comes to mind. It's so not like that for me (or most people, I can safely assume). I know I'm new here, but I feel like I have lived here a 100 years.

Yesterday, after my wallet's brush with fate, when I was on my way to retrieve it, I had this urge, instinctual really, to call my mom and say 'okay! I need to you come pick me up! I have to go get my wallet fast and then, let's go home. I'm tired of this charade. I'm tired, period.'


And then it hit me. I'm not in 5th grade anymore, pretending to live the "fabulous city life". I'm here, and I'm alone.



I don't know what's scarier: realizing the truth or realizing, that, for the first time one of these revelations have hit home I haven't cried, run for the hills or given up...or felt lost or scared, even.



I'm growing up....and I'm getting to be quite good at it.