This beautiful spring day in NYC marks my one year anniversary of moving here, or more like my one year survival-sary. I have successfully completed 365 days, some with tears, in the huge and slightly rotten apple. I feel like this accomplishment is more monumental than any birthday, because I feel like I’ve aged more than one year, in both wrinkles and maturity. I think I’m about 35 in New York City years.

I’ve seen more disgusting, questionable and entertaining people in this year than I did during the two decades I lived in eco-centric Boulder. I may have seen more DQE’s just on my commute this morning. And while the people her terrify me; I am starting to find them somewhat repulsively charming.

So now I graduate on to my second year. I am making less money than when I started working here, but I am hopeful. I have “digressed” from a fancy-schmancy job to a blogger-in-training.

About six months ago I was looking forward to this date so I could leave and say I gave it a chance. In my book, a chance is equivalent to one year. But I find myself slightly more comfortable here. There’s no saving my street feet at this point and I just may miss all these a**holes I go to work with every day if I left. Probably not, but they keep me on my toes (my poor mangled toes).

I officially no longer feel like a tourist and now people ask me for directions. So, I totally look the part. And sometimes I can even give them directions. I am feeling less hopeless, helpless, clueless and I get lost less.

So today, I’m going to celebrate my triumph with overpriced beers! (Followed by some milestone mimosas in the morning.) I don’t love you New York, but I’m not giving up on you just yet.