Write your second home a farewell love letter when you leave

Looking back, I can’t believe I was brave enough to actually leave home. I do think it was less about mustering up courage, and more about harnessing the power behind believing that I really had nothing to lose - if I hated NYC, I could just go back to California. Turns out I fell in love with everything that is New York. I had no idea the life-changing forever-friends I’d meet, the dreams I’d fulfill, nor the depth of the love I’d develop for that special city.

I’m a NorCal native. I grew up in a house that was in the middle of a cul-de-sac until I moved to the dorms. All my life, my parents told me that as soon as I got my degree I could go anywhere and be anybody that I wanted to be. I definitely didn’t fathom just what that really meant, but a year after graduating I somehow convinced an ad agency in NYC to hire me with my liberal arts degree from a science and theory university.  With two weeks notice, I packed up my essentials into two check-in luggages and boarded a one-way flight to what would become a place I now refer to as my second home.

There are plenty of people/ articles/ fortune tellers out there that will tell you to leave home. To take that leap of faith. To see the world that is your oyster. It’s all true. My build on that advice: once you get there, enjoy every single minute and when you decide it’s time to leave, make sure you write that place a farewell love letter of sorts so you don’t forget all that she showed/ taught/ gave you. Chances are you won’t read it again, but there’s also a chance you might find yourself reading it again at halfway to seventy, smiling at how far you’ve come.

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My Official Farewell to NYC

(Written April 2011)

"After two years, my vanity had run its course" - Brandon Funston on when he knew it was time to leave NYC

It's hard to believe. I'm sitting at the gate of my favorite terminal at JFK, awaiting the boarding announcement of my delayed flight.

I have weird butterflies in my stomach. And I keep covering my face with my hand and pinching the bridge of my nose to prevent myself from losing composure. I’m leaving a place that I had learned to call home. The feeling is surreal, but not foreign.

When I moved, I had no idea that my time in NYC would have me falling in love over and over and over again. On a daily basis I was enamored-by a newfound friend, a new restaurant, a hidden park, a new advertising idea.

The city herself was so gracious to me.

I had the privilege of working for two of the biggest, bad-ass advertising agencies in the world.

I got to witness another World Series win. Frank Sinatra’s New York, New York blared out of every other bar as I walked home down Second Avenue after the big win. Each alternating bar played Jay-Z’s Empire State of Mind. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, a fire truck crawled down the street with joyous horns beeping and buff men cheering.

I experienced several Snowpacalypses. Which for a young person in the city means trudging through the snowy streets of NY to a neighborhood bar. Each bar was full of young professionals who enjoyed a drink with their neighbors as they furiously tapped at their blackberrys every half hour. Because not even a blizzard stops the city. Not even a blizzard that's a Snowpacalypse.

I grew a backbone. Via apartment break-ins, identity theft, unexpected broken leases, a craiglist stranger roommate, recession raise freezes, family emergencies and the occasional mouse/cockroach appearance. You name it, I probably experienced it.

I was in Rockefeller Center when President Obama won the election. I remember standing in the cold for hours and declaring to my friends that if a winner hadn't been announced by midnight I was going home. Luckily, he was announced before my personal deadline. Watching the ribbon rise and his face appear on the jumbo screen was worth the wait. Pride, joy, excitement-my attempt to explain how that moment felt.

I got to do a lot of cool things for free, like get an eye exam, watch the US Open and see concerts.

I got to volunteer for some cool projects, like the restoration of my parish, painting a school and mentoring high school students on how to develop a communications campaign

I feel like I did the "New Yorker" thing right. I watched the Thanksgiving Day parade (twice!), had picnics in Central park, drank on rooftops (and boats!) with great views, watched the ball drop, walked through summer street fairs, spent time on the Highline, went to free summer concerts and played volleyball with the best Big City team ever.

The list goes on. The only thing that tops the things that I did were the people I spent time with. Some were rekindled friendships from past lives. Others were fellow NYC transplants. And a handful were NY natives. Being able to live in the center of the universe, in my early twenties no-less, has been my greatest adventure thus far. And now, on to the next one. Southern California, here I come.