Year One...Er, Three?

This month marks my one-year anniversary of moving back to New York. So, technically, I lived in New York for three years. On and off. Like Ross from Friends, I "was on a break" from my relationship with the city for a little more than seventeen months. But, also like Ross, I ultimately realized where I truly belonged: with Rachel, er, in New York. New York is my Rachel. My lobster. Okay, it's not a perfect analogy, but go with me on this one.

In the past year, I've experienced a little bit of everything. I've had highs and lows, successes and failures, hot days and cold nights, weekends out and weeknights in. I've made new friends and rekindled old friendships. I've been heartbroken and emerged stronger. I've learned to love oysters and all things Wimpy Kid. I've become obsessed with Soul Cycle and reignited my passion for all types of dance. I've become reliant on Alexa, my Amazon Dot, and my daily triple-shot soy latte from the French coffee shop on West 18th Street. I've spent many a night writing and rewriting and reading and watching Bones and falling hard for The Catch and Chicago Med. I've survived two "snow storms" and stood in line at Trader Joe's to buy a box of dark-chocolate peanut-butter cups and learned to appreciate the efficiency of the Q train. I've laughed, I've cried, I've complained, I've celebrated, I've doubted, I've sang, I've danced, I've worried, I've smiled.

What will the next year(s) have in store for me? Who knows? But that's half the fun, right?