It has officially been 542 days since I left the west coast and moved to New York City. And finally, it feels like home. I take the subway every day. I complain about my commute with fellow New Yorkers - on the rare occasion they engage with me on the station platform. I know which stops the express trains make and I can explain how to get anywhere. As long as it’s somewhere between my house and my office, of course. I get giddy when Clinton Street is in bloom and it doesn’t even phase me to wait in line every day for an overpriced cup of coffee. I appreciate how fashion is respected and taken seriously in New York City. Even the homeless look effortlessly chic at times. Everything you want is within reach. I can have champagne for breakfast, a mind blowing bowl of ramen for lunch and still seamless some of the best pasta in the city right to my door within 40 minutes for dinner. We have drinks with new friends and old at least 3 times a week, rarely visiting the same establishment twice. We go to small off-broadway theaters and watch strange, yet wonderfully beautiful performances. We have access to everything and no obligations to any of it at the same time. 

It can be overwhelming at times, if not always. Todd and I often talk about how New York City challenges us in a way Portland and San Francisco never could. And yet inspires us in a way only New York City can. We want to write more. Capture more. Learn more. Explore more. Be more. Party more. Do everything MORE. 

Just when we were starting to find balance in it all, a rather propitious turn of events took place. We went from looking at buying a house in Brooklyn to putting our stuff in storage for months while we travel around the world. 

And while it is sooner than expected, a move back west at the end of it all feels right. Perhaps it’s because we just spent 10 days there with family and friends, but the west coast is where I seem to have left my heart.  


Chelsie Fish

Slightly exaggerated stories of love, life and travel.