I moved to NYC on a whim for a job. I had never been there before. After a year of crazy ups and downs, several amazing experiences, and people thinking I was a native, things went sour with my living situation. I was at my lowest.
Crying on the hardwood floor, where I had spent many nights without a bed, packing my belongings into boxes and trying to arrange things at a storage unit, I was unsure what my next move was. I was completely alone, in the city that never sleeps, unable to think about the big picture. Then, I got a text. “I love you and don’t worry about other people. I’ll see you when you get home.” My brother, six years my junior and never one to show emotion, had texted me. That one text, as simple as it was, gave me a little bit of hope. I kept it, and I read it often as I continue to try and figure out my life. Except this time I am figuring it out in my own time at home, surrounded by people who care.
And, most importantly, I get to see my brother every day.