I find myself often dreaming about cities far away from the sheltered place I called home.  New York, London and Tokyo called my name, but I couldn’t respond to them. 

Seeing picture of New York made my heart ache.  I longed for the busy streets, bright lights and the constant noise New York would give me.  Part of me wanted the city because I would become invisible.

Living in a city where no one knew your name was a comfort for me.   As someone who has only lived in small towns, the thought of fading into the background excited me.   In my life, I’ve only ever called one place my home, as I get older and more mature I look for new places to call my home.  

At the ripe age of sixteen, I have become bored with my life and I hope for something bigger and better.   

When I walk the streets of New York, or nearly any city I visit, I look around at the houses and apartment buildings and think about how my life would have been different if I lived there. 

I would be a city girl, with the street smarts of a mature woman in the body of a teenage girl.  I would be cultured and smart and everything that mattered in the world would be down the street from my house.  I craved the status being in a city would give me.

  As selfish is that may sound, It seemed fine to me.  I wanted to be happy, and I felt the only way to do that is to be in a bigger place.  

Where you live doesn’t matter though, this is something I have found out.

  Whether it be in Ojai or New York or some small town that you can’t even find on a map, it matters who you’re with and what you feel inside. 

Moving to a bigger city isn’t going to make all of my problems go away, and the years I spent thinking that was only due to the blind hope I still had in the world. 

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