I like to say that I am back in the land of my people. I’m not from New York City (I’m from Buffalo, duh) but people wear Yankees hats here and mean it, and it gives me the warm fuzzies every time I see them. I’m liable to marry the first boy that tells me Paul O’Neill was his favorite player growing up too.
I moved to New York after much thinking and praying and waiting. My hope were high and my plans were negligible, but isn’t that what faith is all about? And so far, the city has been good to me, in a kick-you-in-the-shins-then-bandage-you-up kind of way, of course. Rent costs and arm and a leg. Utilities and transportation cost the other arm and the other leg. Laundry gets the ears, and don’t even get me started on groceries. But somehow, not just in spite of all this but almost because of it, I am loving it. I love it because I am here on purpose.
So chapter 3 begins with me in a cozy apartment (Read: small) on the Upper West Side, working in retail selling outdoor equipment to New Yorkers (Read: “I need your cheapest sleeping bag, I only plan to camp once”) six days a week, and beginning graduate school for a Masters in Public Health.
Also…I decided to stick with “Buffalo at Heart” because it’s really my favorite of all the names I tried, and because life is a continuation of itself, and my football past is a part of my journey.
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