Alexander and the strange, humbling, eye-opening, confusing, saddening, yet restorative and comforting month

In the life of a man, his time is but a moment...
- Marcus Aurelius

Since I last wrote, I've re-re-relocated to Texas. This may come as a surprise to some people (mainly the ones I haven't told yet). When I've told people about my decision to move back, it's raised a few questions (questions I've already had to answer sixty times) - the first of which is: "what?!" My canned (though sincere) response has usually been "(Sigh) I know, I know. I don't know. It's just one of those things. I got here and it didn't feel right. I don't want this life anymore." Obviously there's more to it than the answer offers, but it's the simplest honest answer I can give. The simplest dishonest answer I could (and did) give was "I got a girl pregnant in Texas. I have to move home and get a job and be a daddy." Now that was an easy answer. The girl I delivered that excuse to went from angry and confused to understanding and empathetic (and probably terrified for that poor hypothetical baby) in an instant.

Anyway, I don't want to go into exhaustive detail outlining every reason for coming back. I moved back to New York because I missed the hell out of it while I was in Austin, and as a result, I created an idealized version of it in my head. And I felt like I was running in place at Apple. That job wasn't going to lead to anything. And I wanted to pursue writing. So I figured planting myself in the middle of the media capital of the world would take care of everything. But my problems aren't geographical. It's up to me if I want to write for a living. GQ wasn't going to offer me a monthly column just because I had a Brooklyn address on my resume. But I digress.

I'm a restless person. I always have been. Relationships, jobs, leases...anytime I commit to something, I've already got one foot out the door. I worry far too much about what I might be missing out on, and it keeps me from enjoying the life in front of me. I can't keep doing this. I don't want to be 40 years old unloading my three medium sized boxes of belongings into my new one bedroom apartment in another city where I have no job and no past. I'll end up alienating every single one of my friends and my resume will be seventeen pages of six month job stops. I have to ask myself: "what do I really want? And how do I plan to get it?" I should tattoo that on the insides of my eyelids.

Anyway, it never felt right. I think it would have been perfectly natural for me to feel pangs of regret as I looked at the Manhattan skyline on the way to the airport. Or anxiety at the idea that I'm back at square one. But to be honest, I feel happy. I'm glad I did this. The whole thing. Quitting Apple, turning my life upside down, moving to New York, and ultimately moving back. For one thing, I finally feel like I can put New York behind me. Not the people, just the idea that this place could solve all my problems. I'm not apologizing for leaving, because I don't have anything to apologize for. I feel strangely refreshed and refocused.

I still feel like I've got big things ahead of me, but if I'm going to get there, I'm going to have to do it. Stay tuned.