Within 24 hours, I traveled from Las Vegas to New York and back. This seemed normal. Well, of course it did when both parents are in the airlines. Usually, I flew to New York once a month, but the first time was the best.
I remember departing the plane into a foreign land. The salty breeze overwhelmed me. The subway seemed like a ride. The bright lights of Times Square gleamed. People of all different backgrounds flooded the streets. I knew immediately this city was magical.
First stop was the theatre. Seeing a Broadway show felt like being royalty. The people on stage lived my dream. They performed like gods. I sat staring wide-eyed at the vast stage. I wished to be as good as Broadway actors someday.
Next I walked over to Central Park. It looked the same as in the movies. (Which was a surprise.) The park felt artistic. I snapped many photos while walking through the park. I almost felt like a professional photographer. Maybe one day I’d grow up to be one. After all, my camera seemed like it was glued to me.
For a few hours I decided to walk around the city. I began thinking of all the possibilities this city had for me. A famous actress taking her bow for thousands each night, or a photographer whose pictures were in well known magazines, or even a writer with that one best selling novel. All the paths led to one thing…fame. Most people want fame for the wrong reason, but I wanted it so that I knew that I was good at something. Just to imagine my name in lights or in papers gave me goose bumps.
At the end of the day, I sat at JFK eating a slice of New York pizza. (The best kind of pizza.) I thought about the day and my epiphany about my dreams. I realized what I liked most about New York. It was the fact that I could be anyone I wanted in that city. I felt confident and cool there. Of course it didn’t matter if others judged me because I’d probably never see them again. I made a pact with myself that day. I would move to New York and pursue my dreams.