find the good

I walked into Center City today. On the way back I told my Lyft driver that I grew up taking the bus and always felt ashamed because my friends were driving their own cars or being driven by their parents. That shame has never gone away; I’m fine taking the subway but am still reluctant to take the bus as an adult. The past couple of weeks have been intense! Moving from Brooklyn to Philadelphia was very stressful, but I’m here now and I’m settling in pretty well. As I was packing I found an old bill from my therapist; I haven’t seen her since 2003, I think, and we only saw each other for about a year and a half; we tried to keep going with phone sessions, but that didn’t work and then I graduated from NYU and didn’t have health insurance….it was a long time ago yet I still recall the profound advice she once gave me: “The defenses that served you as a child may not serve you as an adult.” I realized late last week that I was depressed; I’ve lived with depression since I was a teen but my anxiety demands most of my attention and so sometimes it takes longer for me to realize when I’m feeling blue. The move was so stressful and after my plan to rent a car and drive down alone fell through, I finally asked for help from a friend—that’s not easy for me because I learned growing up not to rely on anyone else. To this day, there are things I won’t do or even try if I don’t think I can manage on my own. Because I’ve learned the hard way that people will let you down or just ghost when you need them. The end of summer is probably my toughest time of year when it comes to depression because I always see parents taking their kids to college and that didn’t happen for me. My folks just checked out and so my grandfather asked my uncle to drive me to the Ontario/Quebec border, and we waited there for my sister and her fiance to arrive from Montreal. We transferred everything from one car to another and I arrived at university several hours later with almost everything I needed—except my parents. And I’ve never forgotten that feeling, even though I still feel lasting gratitude that my sister—to whom I wasn’t close—showed up when I needed her and tried to give me the advice and support our parents couldn’t or wouldn’t provide.

I’ve moved so many times since that fall of 1990, and I almost always begin my new life by painting my new apartment. I got to Philly on a Wednesday and by that evening I’d located the nearest hardware store and walked over the next day to buy my first can of paint. My furniture arrived on Friday, and a week later I’d bought four more gallons of paint before I decided to take a break. There are some problems with the apartment and I’m not sure it makes sense to invest any more time or energy in making it beautiful if those problems can’t be fixed. I do NOT want to move again! I love the neighborhood and the building itself is full of friendly people, both residents and staff. But I need peace in my home. So what do I do? This morning, when the freight elevator woke me at 6am, I got up, finished painting the bathroom, and wrote a draft email to the property manager. Then I had breakfast, worked on my office (which is a mess), and decided to walk from 47th to the Target store at 19th St. When I got home, the concierge remarked, “So I hear you’re a children’s book author.” Turns out she stocks little “book nooks” around the community and is a volunteer literacy tutor at the school across the street! This morning I applied to be fingerprinted so I can work in Philly schools—starting with the elementary school next door. It has been fairly easy to get connected so far: I’ve joined the library and the local credit union, and will probably join the local food co-op, too; I found a farmers market in a nearby park, and figured out a good running route through a historic cemetery. And I’ve only been in Philly ten days! As a child/teen I believed I could make things better if I just worked hard enough. As an adult, I’ve learned that some things are beyond my control and sometimes you have to walk away. Other times, you’ve got to reach out and ask for help…which still isn’t easy for me. But on that first day at university, I was okay—my parents weren’t there but my sister was, and I made friends who eventually shared their own tales of family dysfunction, and our decorated dorm room became the most popular on the floor. What’s that advice Mr. Rogers gave to kids years ago? “Look for the helpers.” Because they’re always there—you just have to look around, and humble yourself a bit, and (for me) overcome your fear of being rejected. Lots of things are going well here in Philly so I’m going to try to stay positive and look for solutions to the problems that have come up. And I’ll be careful not to let my impulse to DO overwhelm my awareness of how I feel.