Chasing Peace | Leaving New York City
I've been a New Yorker the majority of my life. 25 of the 34 years of my existence, to be exact. So to describe my decision to leave New York City in late 2020 as a huge deal would be an understatement. It will forever hold a place in my heart and soul–it will always be home.
I write this from the sanctuary that is my new residence in the rural, sleepy town of Kent, CT, a mere 87.7 miles away from the place I thought I would never leave. So long gone are the days of midnight bodega runs for snacks, late-night coffee dates at the local diner, or drinks at the local dive bar.
In this chapter of my life, I find myself surrounded by a history of mining and farming, far removed from the chaos I once embraced, as I seek to find some semblance of peace. Like many New Yorkers, the pandemic was eye-opening for me. It made me question my core beliefs, values, future, and everything I held close to my heart. It made me realize that when I looked in the mirror, honestly with myself, I wasn't happy.
That's when I decided to trade in my high-rise doorman apartment overlooking the Hudson for a life in the woods.
For context, I was born in New York City and lived there until I was eleven. Then, my parents elected to move to Florida for my formative years, and at eighteen, I decided to forge my own path and returned to the place they'd moved me away from.
I spent my 20s in a chapter of self-discovery, venturing into the world, traveling to different countries, writing, learning, teaching, and forging my own path. Finally, at 32, I felt those experiences had served their purpose. I finally knew who I was, who I am.
I no longer felt or needed the growth that came with escapism.
Instead, I questioned the importance of what really mattered. I knew I wanted to build something for the future, something that mattered. Something bigger than myself. I reflected on all of the moments in my life that I cherished the most, and that's how I found myself here.
Building a Nest
I spent summers with my maternal grandparents in Puerto Rico throughout my childhood. Those years will always hold a special place for me because they represent the innocence of adolescence, the experiences of living care and worry-free, and many of those memories shaped who I am today.
I distinctly remember the humid air rushing through the double doors as we left the airport terminal. We were greeted by an entourage of people, all waiting for loved ones with haphazardly written signs–hugging, embracing, crying. I remember sitting at the rental car check-out with my grandparents, wondering what car they'd rent and whether it would live up to the idyllic standards of my childhood brain.
We'd stay at a home that my grandparents had built back in the 70s in Rio Grande, Puerto Rico they used as a summer vacation home. I purposely say "built" because there are photos of both of my grandparents pouring and mixing concrete during those years.
Let me be honest, to other people, it was not the most beautiful home in the world, but they made do with what they had, and while they sold the house over two decades ago, it still exists today.
Those summers were spent visiting family and friends, repairing the house, and exploring the 100-mile island with my second set of parents.
I drove/parked my first car there. I was definitely under 10 years old. (Sorry, Mom.)
My grandfather's fascination with his brother-in-law's farm truck was why I learned basic mechanics long before I could legally drive. This is why I still am passionate about working on what other people would consider relics.
I played my first rounds of Pool (Billiards) at a bar at the top of a mountain. I was also definitely under 10. (Also, sorry, mom.) It's something I still love to do today.
I learned to swim there and developed a love for swimming.
I developed a deep hatred for mosquitoes there.
Also, reading above, clearly, ACS wasn't a consideration at the time–it was the 90s, and times were different.
Looking back, the first time I visited Kent, CT, it reminded me of some of the best summers of my life. That's why I elected to pack all my worldly possessions and move to a town with a single street light in the woods.
Quick aside, on 5/20/20 while sitting in my apartment; I journaled:
“It’s almost 4:00am and I have yet to fall asleep. My thoughts are running widely of infinite possibilities. My brain cannot stop thinking about this vision of creating / rebuilding in a small city. I cannot explain it aside from feeling compelled to create something greater than myself. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know where to begin, but it’s like a fire that refuses to go out. I feel like this is what I was meant to do.”
Underneath it, I doodled what could best be described as a bunch of haphazard thoughts on paper. Beside it is my house a year and a half later.
If that’s not manifesting your reality and walking by faith, I don’t know what else is.
I guess my point is that I've elected to start living deliberately in this chapter of my life. I know that at some point, I'd like to have my own family, and while I don't know what that looks like just yet, it's something that I can hope to share with them someday.
In this chapter, I’m leading with my heart and gut. I’m building. I’m creating in many ways than beyond a camera, and I’m grateful to be here.
If you've reached a point where you're at a crossroads, I encourage you to take the simplest path to your own sense of peace and purpose and, most importantly, to always follow your heart.
Thank you for taking the time to read about this new chapter. ❤️
Jeff
(If you’re interested, below are some photos of my new home.)
