On Tuesday of this week, B accepted an offer at a law firm here in Manhattan. When we moved here, exactly two years and nine months ago for B to attend law school, the plan was to stay for exactly as long as it took him to get his Juris Doctor degree, and from there we would likely return to Minnesota or move elsewhere, preferably away from the East Coast.
Well plans change. And on Tuesday I had to accept that we would be staying in New York City for the forseeable future, and that I would have to learn to enjoy my new home and probably stop complaining about it so much because, well, that's just not healthy.
So thought to myself a bit about the squirrels I see here in New York City. Squirrels were not made to live in cities. They were made to hop about in the forested hills, in a charmingly bucolic setting reminiscent of my childhood spent far from the steaming dung heap that is Manhattan... oh, wait, I said I was going to stop with the complaining, didn't I? Despite being far from where they should, and perhaps want, to live, the squirrels here in New York City have done quite well for themselves. They've discovered the many joys of trash cans. They've sought out the few places where there are trees well-suited for building nests, and they've settled into their prime little chunks of real estate. They've learned to use their cuteness to charm small children into dumping their ziploc baggies full of goldfish crackers right into their grubby little paws. In short, the squirrels here in New York City are fat, happy, and flourishing.
If they can flourish, then I can flourish. And so I have decided to channel my inner New York City squirrel (I call him Fred) and learn, like our friends the squirrels, to adapt to my surroundings, no matter how unnatural they may be.