'Was it hard?' I ask. 'Letting go?'
‘Not as hard as holding on to something that wasn’t real.’
But sometimes, you’re 24 and remembering something you wrote when you were 20 (on this very blog!) about your life.
What you hoped for when you were 25. And you’re in your bed after a show, with your stage makeup still on. You’re eating out of a Ben and Jerry’s and drinking a very expensive Chardonnay with it. You’re in your apartment that you pay for with your money. (You did it! You became financially independent! That is a miracle in and of itself)
You are single, but for the first time in your life, you are perfectly content being single.
You live in New York (!). Maybe not Manhattan, but a very close cozy Brooklyn neighborhood. So things may not look exactly like you expected—tiny apartment with a boyfriend and a cat or dog—but they turned out pretty damn good in the end. You did this. You created this. You built this life.
Isn’t it wonderful?