[As previously posted on my Facebook wall + a blog I might start/keep at never-wait.com]
While sitting in purgatory – otherwise known as a doctor’s waiting room – I realized something startling.
I knew I worked hard in New York. I knew it came at a cost.
I sat at my desk, in meetings, or at home to create software for a bank. This software helped the bank make money. I, on the other hand, failed to enjoy life. I ate at my desk. I never exercised. I certainly didn’t date. The time passed quickly. I triple confirmed this: From the age of 28 to 34 I worked weekends and nights relentlessly.
Vacations were for trips to IKEA.
Before the days of ZipCar (a car sharing company) groveling was involved. No amount of wine/booze/beer could bribe anyone (let alone friends) to take the bus out to New Jersey.
“Wanna carry a box? Through a bus station? Up some escalators? To a taxi? Or another bus?”
This was a poor life choice. Given the opportunity Phoenix seemed right. So I moved. (In case anyone is curious, no. I wasn’t squatting onto of card-box boxes in my shanty town hovel. Eventually wine worked. IKEA products were transported.)
I’m over the moon to be here. It’s crazy where time goes tho.
This is the face of an incredibly happy New Yorker. I’ll always be a Yankees fan.
(The “after photo” was taken before the *worst* haircut of my life. No public photo yet available of that disaster. There are bangs. But not much else is left.)
Honk if you see me zooming around!