Birth of Immersion Therapy, NYC >> TX >> NYC

  

    As I have in previous iterations, I turn to unstructured, unprompted, and just-for-fun writing that serves as a conduit to joy. The last time I did this was during my doctoral program, where I floundered despite being thrilled and challenged intellectually. The blank space of a no-strings-attached post was a relief. No one would scrutinize, and my PhD funding wouldn't be at stake. I'm unsure if that increased my desire to write off the cuff, but I needed an outlet for playfulness. And so! This is a playful space! 

Another extreme weather day made tolerable by a dip in Barton Springs and JuiceLand

ACTUALLY: Phase I: A whim took me away from my East Coast homeland to Texas. At the time, I did not question my whim. I wanted to try a new place and figured things would sort out eventually. I don't know many people who just relocate without a plan. 

I do it regularly, like clock-work, like my grandmother. But I like being a person who can tolerate a certain amount of uncertainty, dread, and waywardness and commit to it. 

Phase II, where I leave behind a life of comfort, stability, and predictability. Where I leave Texas, its "nice" weather and "affordability" and low taxes and private transport and come home to (who does this) New York City. 

In Austin, there is a phenomenon called the Velvet Rut. This option is available to all ages and is democratic. If you've heard of work to live, this is where it peaks with cheap tacos, swimming at Barton Springs, accepting heatstroke, air con in your private car, live music, relaxing at all times. This feeling suits certain people, and for a while, I enjoyed it. Until I didn't.

I don't know if it's because I'm not a native Texan, because I'm a New Yorker, or what, but for the four years I lived there, I was the most stressed out I've ever been. It may be unfair that my time overlapped with 1. Pandemic 2. Politics 3. Climate Terror (the last being 80 days straight of temps over 100 degrees and no rain).

Despite the fulfilling work we did there, our vast network of friends, a darling bungalow, etc., a departure became increasingly inevitable. To leave, I would have to face the place that did me in post-9/11, that invigorated and then nearly crushed me, that gave me a crippling fear of subway transit and other maladies. I knew I was headed for IMMERSION THERAPY. 

Join me as I navigate my chosen adventure, daily stress tests on public transit without the emotional protection of private transport. A challenge and a victory await every day.