This is the post that was meant to be written on April 11th.

This is the post that was meant to commemorate one year in New York City.

This is the post that was meant to tell of my trials and tribulations,

This is the post that was meant to tell of the glamour and the fun, the late nights and long days.

This is the post that was never supposed to be written.

I was never supposed to be in New York this long.

Six months quickly became nine months; nine months soon became one year. And here I still am.

The winters are long, the summers are sweltering and the months in between carry a sense of anticipation and foreboding for what is next.

This is my second summer in this vibrant city.

And New York is much the same. Same in its fluidity, same in its noise.

In the city that constantly changes the one constant is that the city beats on. Nothing stops it, nothing defeats it and you either march along side her, trying to keep up, or get trampled. It seems that the people who win in New York City are either those who can afford to keep up with its beat - throwing money at problems - or are strong enough to create their own rhythm and courageous enough to defy the unending push to be more, try more, do more...

Most of my time in this city feels as if it was, is, all a dream. As if it is not happening or was never supposed to. As if New York is not my reality.... and because of this, all the things I do and experiences I have seem as though they never actually happened.

Since this time last year, I have been to London five times, France twice, Russia, Spokane, Alabama, Rhode Island, California, Chicago, St. Louis, Boston (too many times to count), Florida, Canada and Costa Rica... and as soon as I landed began planning the next round...

But perhaps that is why New York feels less like a reality. In a year I only spend about half my time here, half my time wondering. I read somewhere that loneliness is the destiny of the wonderer. I imagine that is true.

When I first moved to the city it felt like love at first sight. I found community, friends, and I was fascinated by everything. It was all exciting. I lived like a tourist daily. New experiences, new food, new neighborhoods....

And yet, a year in, I still I feel as if I still don't know this city - and I certainly feel unknown by it.

It is difficult to strike a balance in NYC and I don't know if I ever will. And I don't know if routine is something I should strive for or if I should simply enjoy the ride, figuring it out as I go along... the way I have always done throughout my life in a series of blind leaps of faith. Sometimes I feel like I am still falling, or still driving towards and unknown destination along sometimes bumpy, and rarely, smooth roads. Great time, good times, bad times and awkward ones.

When I was in Costa Rica I learned to surf from a man named 'Peace'. It was actually Alex, but few in the small town of Puerto Viejo new his first name and he was widely known as 'Peace'. When teaching me, at one point he said, "I live my life the way I surf, I feel the Ocean and take it as it comes." Perhaps living like a surfer is the key to life, the key to New York life. And perhaps there is more to surfing than tanned bodies and blonde minds.

Over a year in New York and I still feel like a toddler on this big kids playground, this urban jungle.

In a year, here are the things I've learned:

Its useless.

I don't know what i've learned.

This city is madd. That is what I've learned.

But against my better judgement and despite an intense hatred for a lot of what happens here... I love New York. I love it. It has ruined me for living anywhere else. I can fool myself that I desire quiet surfing towns on the Caribbean, or the slower pace of life on the West Coast, but everywhere else I go feels like too small a town. Everywhere I go feels less ambitious, everywhere I go feels like it has been left behind or hasn't quite caught up. The city has become my blinders.

And while, despite everything and knowing that I won't be here forever - I don't know how long - I feel caught in this love-hate relationship. Like a bad marriage, no, more like an arranged one. Love may eventually be the prime emotion. But I didn't choose this city, it was chosen for me and my life here is a determination in learning to love it and remembering, no, realizing it's greatness and enjoying all the things that make it so wonderful, so addicting.

More than that, living here is a lesson in self discipline. Because anything is possible and because you can come here to do or become anything - a success, or worse than it's opposite - you have to learn to be the master of your own desires in this city. It is as carnal - more so - than it is cerebral. The now is often more powerful an emotion than the next and so one must always be on their guard, always sure to keep an eye to the future and not let this city bleed you - take your money and your self-esteem. And until you can master it, this city is more like a drug than an antidote.

But the apartment jazz parties, 5am drinking sessions, galas, art openings, movies in the park, overly enthusiastic exercise instructors; the talent, drive, ambition; and the consistent openness and execution of the new, the exciting and the dramatic make it a place hard to leave. All these make New York City one of the most unique places in the world. A place so many people want to be, desire to be.

And here I still am.