From AK to NY: Leaving Home to Reach a Dream

I took the 9-hour flight from family to lonesome four months ago. I bit the bullet and went ahead. I took a leap of faith. My life since then seems like an eager invitation to complete chapters of a miniscule novel.

I took on the life of a solo to satisfy my hunger to pursue a dream. I conquered unknown territory with only one thing in mind: become who I have aspired to become.

I left Anchorage on February 27. My eyes were sore from crying. My shoulders tired from carrying my red bag. My hands were sore from lugging around two 70-pound suitcases. My heart was heavy, filled with doubt and fear.

My brother and my parents accompanied me to the airport despite my insistence that they drop me off and leave. We enjoyed a pre-dawn breakfast void of tears and frowns. Everything was masked in normalcy up until I had to say goodbye. I've never handled goodbyes well. The fact that Milo , my brother, refused to let go just made it twice difficult.

Each stopover got lonelier. I left a piece of home with each mile of flight. Peeling off my old life was not at all like ripping off a band-aid. It wasn't quick and painless. It was long and painful.

I was afraid. The uncertainty was too much to handle. Life in Alaska was built on a routine schedule. I knew where to go and how to get around. There I was on the place, wondering if I had to learn how to breathe.

I was beginning to feel the knot in my stomach tying itself over again. I was afraid I destroyed my future. I was afraid I made a decision without thinking of the consequences. After all, I didn't have a job. The subway was one big chaotic mess in my head. What was I getting into?

And then it came. I had a smile on my face. Five minutes prior to landing at JFK, I felt it. I saw Manhattan through the window. It was alive. It was vibrant, even at night. The city was illuminated by the hopes of other people out there for the same reason as me-to reach their dream.

I had my phases. Impulsive desires to take a dive and return home where housing was free and food was available. McDonald's wasn't the only option, and I had no reason to sleep on the hardwood floor. But when I walked Times Square , Central Park or Madison Avenue, I'd remember what I was there for.

It took close to a month for me to get a job. The pay wasn't great, and it wasn't in my field. But it bought me more time to stay seeing that I had already wiped out my savings on living expenses alone. I had the luck of finding a cheap sublet-a two-bedroom I shared with a girl from Pennsylvania . I found friends to spend my Tuesday evenings with as we adored the girls singing on American Idol.

Two jobs, three telephone numbers, three addresses (or four, if you count my P.O. Box at Grand Central) later, I find myself calling New York my home. I've become a token tourist guide taking visitors to the likes of Rockefeller Center and Café Lalo (of the movie You've Got Mail).

Although I live in a one-bedroom in Queens (much thanks to my parents), and haven't gone much further than interviews for that perfect job I seek, I have to admit I'm content. My illusions of being Carrie Bradshaw or Rachel Green have subsided. It's the desire to find and be "ME" in New York has settled in.

The support I get from the people and love and who love me have slowly made me see that I can do anything. After all, if they believe I can, why should I deprive myself of that same gusto? New York is the place to be. New York will allow me to reach my dream.

Author's Note: In all New York fashion, I wrote this on the E train back to Queens .