Manhattan Storage Has Its Benefits

Exactly five years ago, just about now, I settled into bed wondering if I would actually get any sleep that night. I had spent the entire day doing laundry, folding an overwhelming amount of onesies, blankets, burp cloths and other baby paraphernalia, in preparation for the birth of my first child. Between sporadic contractions (which I hid from my mother who was visiting), I would urge my husband to dig the car out "just one more time" as the Blizzard of 2003 pummeled our Hudson River-front street in downtown New York.

At 12:35 am on February 18th my eyes burst open with the pain of the first real contraction. That's when I realized I had actually fallen asleep. My daughter was born much later that morning at Mount Sinai Hospital.

Right after her first birthday, this is what I wrote:

"I used to read a book a week. I'm not talking about chick lit, but serious books on the plight of gypsies or women’s lives in the Middle East. I used to take classes after work. Classes in photography, Spanish, ballroom dancing; all in the name of personal growth. I used to watch long-subject documentaries at Lincoln Center and wait in line for hours to snag last minute tickets to the latest Broadway shows; again all in the name of personal growth.

My mind grew over the years. From sharing a converted one bedroom in Manhattan to an alcove studio in Brooklyn and back to Manhattan for married bliss, the space I occupied in this world grew as well. I continued pursuing the pleasures of living in New York, now with a husband, and chased personal growth through wine-tastings on the North Fork, cooking classes at the Institute and pottery nights at Our Name is Mud.

A few short years after I got married my body started growing, so I stopped doing all these things. When my daughter finally arrived during the Blizzard of 2003, my heart was the biggest organ in my body. It ached with its bigness.

The first year of Maya’s life has ultimately been the pivotal learning experience of my thirty years. An entire year dedicated to one project and one project alone. I couldn’t have imagined what a life-altering experience it would be and that I would grow so much."

Finding reflective treasures in stored-away boxes is absolutely the best part of moving. When every square inch you pack has to travel across the Atlantic and cross an entire continent to get to your new house, you make sure what you're bringing with you belongs on the must-have list. You go through every single box thoroughly, even if it means that you will get sucked into letters, diaries, start organizing photos, sifting through saved magazines, newspaper articles. Finding the time to get lost in the past is a luxury I decided I must afford. Friends with whom I haven't kept in touch will suddenly start hearing from me.

Just yesterday, I was able to gift a poem written in 1991 to a friend who just turned 34. It was a poem she had written when she was 17 years old, hidden away in one of my journals from high school. It put a smile on both of our faces, brought gentle tears to our eyes. Being able to recapture youth, a youth well-lived, is divine. Life is beautiful!