A quick note before I begin today’s letter: I recently read that there are two types of writers, one being the kind that shares helpful information packaged up pretty (which I do hope I sometimes offer for you, when I provide tools and inspiration and actionable tips). Though I think, at my core, I may be the other kind - the explorer, the gardener, the one who lets you peek into the process, figuring it out as I go along. I choose to use this space for sending love letters that show a little of my own humanity, a demonstration of vulnerability, proof that everyone is a little messy, whether they let you see it or not - because being human is messy! I’m not here to hide that, I’m here to embrace it and demonstrate within my own life (in ways I feel comfortable) that it’s okay to feel wobbly and there are ways to embrace the chaos. Thanks for being here through it all. x
I’ve always been a free spirit and lately I’ve become a true wanderer. The past four winters, we’ve embarked on the long drive out West to enjoy a lengthy stay with family in the fresh mountain air. It’s restorative and revitalizing and this year we decided we wouldn’t be driving back home to Brooklyn.
I’m not sure if this is a surprise to you or not. I planned to share all about this seismic shift in my life and what it means for my therapy practice (nothing will change! as it’s all virtual and I love working with my clients in NYC, where I plan to be back often for long stretches) once I settled in a new home, in a new city, when everything felt a little less cosmic and raw. Then life, with it’s own timing and plans, unfolded in ways I hadn’t pictured. And now that I’m out here, I’m not sure I’m going to share much beyond the fact that I now spend most of my days in the mountains of the Southwest. I imagine more details will emanate over time but, in this moment, it feels nice to tell you that I take my dog for hikes on red rocky trails instead of through the city streets, I watch the sun rise over mountain tops instead of between brownstones, I look up at shimmering stars on my evening walks instead of glowing streetlamps. Some days I miss the creative energy and my people in NYC, but mostly my body feels more at ease, my work and art feels expanded, I’m showing up for my clients in a fuller, fresher way. Even with the grief of leaving my home of a nearly decade, the only place I’ve lived as an adult, and the seemingly endless floating through time and space, achingly caught in limbo while trying to enjoy the ride - I know I followed my heart when I made this overwhelming decision.
Weeks before I moved out of my New York City apartment, I chatted with someone who had recently moved from Seattle to Brooklyn. When I opened up about my concerns around identity, my tumultuous internal dialogue around figuring out who I was without Brooklyn as my address, she didn’t understand. She felt no connection to the city she had just left after a decade, while I was having trouble conceptually disentangling myself from the place where I grew into this version of me, where I learned to call myself an artist, where I struggled and shape shifted and built a family and life I loved.
It’s fascinating to me that I can feel so tied to a place - one I wasn’t born in, at that - its essence embedded in my dna, and yet know in my heart that we never belonged to each other. I’m not sure I really belong anywhere. Or maybe, I belong everywhere.
Naturally, the past few months I’ve been mulling on identity, how we define ourselves and the ways that transforms over time. If you were to ask me to define myself today, I would tell you I am an artist and a therapist. Though I haven’t always used those words and my answer may be different a week from now. Two years ago, I may have emphasized that I lived in Brooklyn. I felt like that explained something about me, though I’m not quite sure what. Brooklyn just felt like me, for so long.
Some days I worry that I lost myself somewhere along the way. But I believe I belong wherever my heart is and I know I’ll reconnect with myself again. I’m trying my best to do all the things that make me feel most like me - meeting with clients and drawing and writing and playing with clay and hiking and laughing and crying and snuggling my dog (who, yes, is obsessed with living in the mountains!!)
Each day I remind myself: I am me - wherever I go, whatever I create, whoever I am with. Wherever you go, there you are.
* I’ll be back in NYC hosting a mindful handbuilding workshop at BKLYN CLAY WEST on 4/20 - grab a seat for a slow, messy saturday morning away from the noise of the city here!
** I’m continuing to grow my therapy practice in nyc - if you or someone you know is feeling stuck, lost at sea, frustrated, or hurting - I’m here! please know that, because of licensing, you must live in new york state for us to work together!
⋰ artist website
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⋰ email: grace@cadywest.com
I think there are 2 types of people who leave NYC, those who are desperate to get out and those who reluctantly leave a piece of themselves behind. I left Brooklyn for the waves of coastal Maine and have spent months disentangling my identity from being a New Yorker for a decade. Much like losing a job early in my career and finding peace in my identity outside of a career, I've been working to find peace in identity outside of location. All this rambling to say, yes, I get it!