there’s a lot to be said for being a dreamer. (and yes, this is a memoir.) i’ve always had a propensity for seeing myself as i might be, if i moved here…or as i could be, if i did this…the possibilities seemed endless, and i loved each with the fervent devotion of one who falls infatued with something new every day. on monday, i set this vessel asail in my sea of desire, but by wednesday, that seems to glitter just a wee bit more…and surely by saturday, i’ll have flirted through yet another “perfect” picture of future happiness that drowns the formers in its wake.

i dream, therefore i am (or should i say, was). but dreaming is a far cry from doing, and this is where i got stuck, tethering my wrists to “maybe one days” and dragging anchored feet shackled by my own inability to take a risk. “just try something,” my mother would tell me. “that’s what you do. you pick something, and you try.”

and so i have. finally, after months (perhaps years? yes, surely years) of acknowleding that i was ready for a real change and a new city and a renewed lease on life, i’ve traded in the familiar streets of Albany for the hectic bustle of Manhattan. it happened so quickly i barely had time to pack my Toto and burst into color as home disappeared behind me and i spun into this wonderful city of concrete and clocks. i landed safely, swifly, a little unsure and a lot ecstatic, confident that this, here, now, is where i’m supposed to be.

and then i had a dream, two nights ago, of a wooden house whirling madly in a tornado, whisking me off the ground in a fearful flight that may or may not drop me safely or disastrously in a foreign place. how strange, the correlation of dreams and life…and not until today did i put the pieces together and see my very Dorothy-ness, a whirlwind rush of guts and glory where Kansas peels away and the reality of the dreamworld rushes up violently beneath my feet — and i find it is good, it is better than good. it is all i ever dreamed it would be.

i can always click my little heels and pray for home, and no doubt i will on my sadder nights where loneliness curls up beside me in my bed and doubt convinces me that i am just a tiny window in a sea of granite and anonymity. i am not so naive as to think my city life will be all glamour and posing, carefree sequin-studded nights. but for me, this is a necessary next step; a literal dream come true; proof that God answers prayer in ways that let an idealistic small-town girl finish out her 20s in a fashion of which she’d always dreamed.

hello, manhattan. hope you remember my name.

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