I’ve spent the past few days with a 2-and a 4-year-old, so I’ve been hearing “my” and “mine.”” “My book.” “My turn.” “My crayon.”

I’ve been feeling the same way. My New York! I’m trying to choose my words carefully and say this as nicely as I can. Going to New York is mine. I don’t want to share. Maybe in a couple weeks, I’ll be over it and willing to share, but right now I’m not.

I’ve struggled to explain this to people – mostly because I didn’t realize it myself. Perhaps you’ve tried to talk to me about my move, and I’ve kept it short or cut you off. But the truth is this is my equivalent of the red crayon in my nephew’s hand. I have it. It’s mine. I don’t want to share it.

I know everyone’s advice comes from a good place. And I don’t want to take that away from anyone. Some I’ve appreciated, or moved to a “save” folder in my inbox for when I will appreciate it. Other times, I tuned out as people rattled on about their own New York experiences, things they’ve seen on TV or their own hopes to visit. I’ve also sought out help, advice and opinions as needed.

But the thing that is bugging me is feeling like people are trying to take my red crayon away from me. I know the people I love want to share this with me, but I want to color my picture my way. I don’t want someone to do it for me, or tell me how to do it, and I really don’t want to give it away before I’ve even started coloring it.

And now that I feel whiney and selfish, I’ll say that I do want visitors. Just give me my time first. And I’m sorry if I hurt feelings.

Published by Candace

I’m a journalist, nutritionist, doting auntie, one-time bobsledder, and wannabe health nut (who loves chocolate and pizza too much to fully commit). I don't want you to think my life is perfect. It's not.

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