New York City. That's where I expected to be by now.
I told myself at 21 that if I was still in Phoenix by 30, it would mean that I had failed at pretty much every aspect of life. Well, I just turned 39 last month and I have never lived anywhere but Phoenix, save for college years spent in Tucson. But I realize now that just because I didn't grow up to live in the city that I thought I would have doesn't mean I have failed. I've actually come to love the city I was born and raised in and have called home for nearly 40 years, though, I can't lie, it's taken nearly every one of those years to realize that.
My disdain for Phoenix began in my mid-teens and held strong until my early thirties. But it wasn't always there. As a little girl, I can remember trips to my dad's office at the Historic City Hall building. I can remember the thrill of hustling through the crowds of office workers, my dad's firm grip on my hand. Navigating the unique buildings, giants in my little girl eyes.