Two Suitcases, A Lifetime

I showed up here roughly a year and a half ago with two heavy suitcases in tow and an array of other bags slung over my eager and determined shoulders.  Sidewalks were pounded, apartments were scoured, temporary homes were squatted in, subways were hesitantly navigated, and after two months or so of this frightening carousel, I settled in to a cool and spacious home in a little neighborhood called Williamsburg.  It was then, finally, that I began to think I could make a home of New York City.

And I did make it my home.  I discovered things with my own feet and eyes and ears and nose that had been discovered by so many before me but for the first time were being recorded in my own consciousness.  I wandered bookstores, traversed avenues, chose favorite benches in parks, and began to wear the paths of my own feet familiar.  I made new friends and then I made more new friends and each one had more and more in common with this new self I was creating.  I turned 30 years old, published a book, drank too much sometimes, missed my good friends far away, traveled out of the city to get perspective.  Perspective that looked like the Manhattan skyline disappearing and then reappearing days or weeks later looking exactly the same.  This is a city that changes by the minute and yet is completely timeless.

I rode a bike that didn’t go anywhere twenty-some times, sweat dripping even from my eyeballs, just to prove to myself that I could.  I jumped off a platform holding only onto a thin trapeze bar and let go at the precise moment a stranger in flame-printed tights caught me by the hands.  I fell in love with a man who lived far away from the city, in my past, and one day he showed up and said, “I live here now too.”  And the city was anew again with springtime and love and new tastes and sights and flutters of the heart.  And now I’m leaving, full and happy, like I’d just finished a luxurious meal course by course which has made me sleepy and euphoric.  I am satisfied.  This city has fed me bitter, savory, rich, and sweet but never bland.

What will I miss most?  It’s hard to say yet, for the imprints on my memory are still too close to see the whole picture.  Will I come back?  Absolutely, though I’ll be changed yet again and so will bewhat I discover when I come.  Can I be happy somewhere else?  Surely, for I am a nomad, an adventurer, and my home is within myself.

Tennessee was a wild horse that I tamed and made my own.  New York is a wild bull that bucked me off, but only after my eight seconds were up.  I’ve had my ride.  I have no regrets; nothing was missed; not a moment was wasted, even the rough ones.

I leave here today the same way I came – with two heavy suitcases in tow and an array of other bags slung over my triumphant shoulders – and yet I’m completely different.

Meet Sunshine + Skyscrapers & Other News

I hope you’re all enjoying your summer!  June 1st I launched a new site called Sunshine + Skyscrapers with partner (and my bicoastal bestie) Heather Anderson.  We’ll be sharing all kinds of goodies on wellness: fitness, food and my personal favorite, self-development.  If you’ve been enjoying my self-exploratory style posts here on The Ooh La La Life, watch for more of those coming from me on S+S!

Also, a new kimberlynovosel.com site is coming later this summer and The Ooh La La Life blog will go live there!  Reread through your favorite posts here in the meantime.  They may not all move to the new home – just some of the top stories.

Thank you as always for being a loyal and encouraging reader!  It’s really lovely to have such support as my brand continues to evolve.

The Perils of Being an Adventurepreneur

This is my, “your flight has been cancelled – again” face.

This is not a complaint letter of any kind.  I am so blessed to live a life where I can take planes, trains and automobiles anytime to anywhere and still get my work done and (usually) pay my bills.  I am aware of what an incredible opportunity I have.  However, this kind of unpredictable life carries with it some unpredictable hiccups.  One of the largest being cancelled flights.  Between this month and last, I’ve had 2 flights cancelled out of 4, and the rest have been delayed.  Even my replacement-flights have been delayed.  Some delayed 30 minutes, some delayed forever.  Honestly, I think a little ghost of myself is still wandering JFK waiting for that August 10th flight that never flew, meanwhile the rest of me headed to White Plains, NY at 3:00 the following morning for my re-booked flight.  (No, I still don’t know where White Plains actually is.)

That’s all just hiccups though.  I get to where I’m going eventually, and as the popularly pinned poster says, “If the train doesn’t stop at your station, it’s not your train.”  I guess if the plane doesn’t fly from your gate, it’s not your plane.

The victories are where I get to be – a friend’s birthday party on his new deck, a wedding in a college town, dinner with a girlfriend and her one-year-old who I had never met, a quiet weekend at a lake house in Kentucky, picking blackberries with my brother in Portland, a band’s show in LA, brunch with my Nashville church family… it goes on and on.  The peril, truly, is in the goodbyes.  How much older will little Ava be the next time I see her? How long until I get to spend time with my brother again?  No, I won’t get to carve pumpkins with the Perdue family this year.  Goodbye doesn’t ever get easier.

The good news is, for every goodbye there’s at least one hello that follows.

Hello again, New York.  That is, if I ever get to board this plane.

P.S. I’ve surpassed 300 followers here on The Ooh La La Life! Thank you ALL! Let’s keep it growing – please share posts with your friends on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and so on!

Broken Glasses

I had a recurring dream when I was little, maybe around the time that I was 9 or 10, that my glasses were lost or they were broken and I couldn’t see.  This must have come from some deep rooted fear, a discomfort of the unknown, born in me right along with the gene for horrible eyesight.  I do not like when I cannot see.

It’s true that “seeing” as in planning and predicting the future is illusion most of the time.  It’s a silly comfort that we rely on when there is really no way to know what will come tomorrow, next year, or five from now.  Regardless, a clear picture of what I imagine is to come is the pillow I hug to myself to get to sleep at night.  Some say that it’s that time spent imagining that motivates us to create those circumstances.  Maybe I’m goal setting.  I imagined running my own business and now I’m doing that.  You picture yourself at the end of the marathon and you keep on running.  Whether I’m goal setting or trying to predict, the fact is, right now, I cannot see.

I was in New York last week.  One night, after spending a long day walking a hundred plus blocks looking at apartments, I still do not know what the apartment I will live in looks like.  I don’t know which pieces of furniture will fit, what will be new and what will be old.  I don’t know how my life will blend with someone else’s in a very very small space.  And I am vastly uncomfortable with the not-knowing.

I’m ten years old again, feeling my way through the racks at the clothing store seeing only blobs of color and no shapes or path.  I’m not even sure what I’m looking for.  But as I’ve discovered over and over, some of the best stuff is what you don’t see coming.