I moved to New York City when I was 18. No plan B, no safety net. Generically, but just a dream, a suitcase, a couple of boxes and the kind of blind faith you need to throw yourself into the unknown. At first, everything felt overwhelming. The city moves fast, and I felt like I was five steps behind. So I clung to little routines—morning coffee, a playlist for the subway, long walks just to map the city in my head—until the unfamiliar started to feel like mine. Then came the loneliness. No matter how crowded the streets were, I still felt like I was figuring it all out alone. But I learned to take myself on solo dates, to sit in a café and just be, to trust that real friendships would come. And they did. And then, the doubt. Did I really belong here? Was I just playing a version of myself that didn’t exist? But every time I questioned it, I reminded myself: if I never tried, I’d always wonder what if? And I’d rather build something messy and real than live with the regret of not trying. It’s been two years. And now I start seeing the beauty of life I started to build then. Somewhere between all of that, I found something else—freedom. New York doesn’t hand you anything, but it lets you create. Reinvent. Dream bigger than you ever thought possible. And now? I get to wake up in the city I once only saw in movies, documenting this life and proving that the dream is possible. If you’ve ever wanted to move, chase something bigger, or rewrite what you thought was possible—hold onto that. You might just surprise yourself.