Purpose, Change, and How Life Comes Full Circle

Autumn is the season of transition. Trees shed layers and so do we. Temperatures fluctuate in the season’s ebb and flow, as we too, go back and forth on choices, on life decisions, to pave our way forward. The leaves change into hues of browns, yellows, oranges, and reds, daring us to embody our own personal transformation.

Buffalo, NY is very kind in the autumn. During its onset, the suburban towns dazzle us with an abundance of sprawling leaves, a bright burst of color, and fall winds that invigorate; that let us know growth is coming down the bend.

***

My boyfriend and I decided to make the 8 hour move from Long Island, NY to Buffalo in 2018. He needed to pursue another degree, and since I was in my upper twenties, I knew I didn’t want to be long distance, and I certainly knew it was time to officially live together. The lower cost of upstate living was hard to beat, too.

Everything serves a purpose. A phrase I utter from my lips for many life circumstances; for phases that have a definite beginning, middle, and end.

My time in Buffalo would serve a purpose, I said. And yet, life is often not in shades of black and white. It would be an emotional experience, as this was my first move away from home, and a move that was rather far from everything I loved. Nonetheless, it would serve a purpose.

There’s a small hill at a local park in Long Island. It’s a hill I’ve sought out for years, reflecting with the changing seasons and pouring out my innermost thoughts and feelings into the sky above. On a muggy summer night, shortly before the move to Buffalo would take hold, I sat on top of that very hill once more, letting the summer do what it personally does best — bring forth meaning — a personal turning point. As the warm summer breeze brushed against my skin, I knew it was time to find something new. I knew it was time for a pertinent change come autumn, even though nostalgia for Long Island, and all that lies within it, would be coursing through my veins as we drive further and further away from our hometown.

Mixed emotions brought forth tears the night before I left. It’s okay to cry, my mom said. Just let it out. Boxes of my belongings were packed neatly into corners of the room, stripping away facets of my bedroom; my bedroom of 16 years with a smooth purple carpet and lavender walls. Lavender walls that saw me through my first all-encompassing heartbreak at 18 years-old. Lavender walls that saw me through days of journaling and writing articles about positive psychology after I graduated college. Lavender walls that saw me through planning birthdays with my best friend. Lavender walls that saw me through getting ready to go to a friend’s house for a movie or a game night when nights held a particular simplicity that can only be found in those early twenty-something years. Lavender walls that saw me through further heartbreak that eventually led me to something real and right.

Goodbyes sound too final, I said. These bittersweet see you laters ensued with my grandma at her assisted living home. My brother. My dad. My mom who began to cry. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her, my boyfriend said.

His parents assisted us with unpacking parts of ourselves into a 600 square foot one bedroom apartment in a suburb of Buffalo, NY.

***

July Fourth of 2019 was a muggy one. The pervasive humidity seeped through the air as we devoured our hot dogs with mustard in our apartment and then drove twenty minutes downtown. I adore the symbolism of the Fourth; fireworks light up the dark sky, inspiring us to follow our own inner spark as well. We pulled into a parking lot at Canal Side, the city’s waterfront; an area that has been beautifully built up around Buffalo’s canals and rivers.

I pined for Long Beach, Long Island in that moment, and a particular tinge of sadness washed over me. I pined for the Atlantic Ocean. My melancholy mood turned into overt frustration in the thick humid air that made it difficult to breathe. When I left the premises after the fireworks ended, my boyfriend followed my steps with trepidation. He knew I was feeling down. The canals may be pretty, but it’s not quite the same as seeing flickers of light over the Atlantic. It’s not quite the same as the waves crashing at our feet on the shoreline. A shoreline that housed many memories. A shoreline where we looked out at the waters that appeared deeply infinite and intimate all at once.

It’s not the same, I said. I know it’s not, he said back.

***

It’s tough to meet friends after college and after the dynamic period of the early twenties. People often feel settled in their ways, their routines, and their social circles. And while places of employment could certainly bring about new friendships, I was navigating a hard localized job market in 2019 and found myself working in a very small office environment.

However, through my boyfriend’s job, the potential for meeting new people in our peer group was greater. One of his coworkers even came by our apartment a few times; we all watched Youtube clips, chatted, and ate grilled cheeses with portobello mushrooms and avocado. I thought to myself that this was a lead. A lead at a small friendship circle upstate since this coworker had a girlfriend as well. It was a promising possibility to counter little bouts of loneliness. I missed friends who were eight hours away. I missed being able to text one of them to meet me at Starbucks, and I missed the natural ease of forming a plan. (Albeit, with everyone in their own schedules at that point, too, it wasn’t as easy to conjure up plans, anyway; these were some of thoughts I told myself.)

There was one night where we wanted to host a dinner at our apartment. I was finally going to meet the girlfriend. And while I wasn’t necessarily seeking a new close friend, I was hoping that maybe this girl and I could be the kind of friends who could at least meet at the Starbucks in town.

The night before the plan, the basement below our apartment had a flood. Normally, it would have been easy to reschedule, but in the weeks prior, all signs pointed to the disconnect of it all. The girlfriend would abruptly text him that she was outside to pick him up whenever he was already in our living room, and she never tried to say hello. Their relationship, from my understanding, seemed to be a bit of a rollercoaster. After the double date never came to be, I gave the pursuit a rest. I gave it some breathing room. The coworker never reached out again, and neither did we.

At that point, I gradually moved away from my friendship quest. I know I could have kept trying to meet other people, but it was then when I felt Buffalo spitting me out a bit. I rationalized this all with a comforting thought process. I still will have back and forth visits with friends and family. It’s not like I am across the country. And again, of course, being up here isn’t forever.

***

They said it would be two weeks to stop the spread. In April of 2020, we were both cautiously staying home and doing what we could to stay healthy. I knew I wouldn’t make it to Long Island for Passover and Easter, but my boyfriend tried to bring some of the holiday traditions to Buffalo. He made a mixture of Haroset (the Syrian Jewish version, which comes from my mother’s side of the family) from scratch and bought a lamb shank for the symbolic Seder Plate. The Passover Seder that year was a zoom session with my parents, brother (who was living alone in Washington DC for law school), and my grandmother, who was staying in my old bedroom with the lavender walls while recovering from major surgery. It was hard but we tried our best; we all did. We made lasagna for Easter, and we tried to make the most of spring as the early buds developed on the trees and pink and white blossoms slowly began to bloom. That August, we finally made it to Long Island for a visit, and as stressful as it was to cautiously maneuver through such abnormal circumstances, we thankfully reunited with family. I saw two friends. I floated in the Atlantic Ocean to feel a sense of innocent normalcy again.

****

By the beginning of winter, 2021, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Vaccinations were emerging onto the scene, and I hoped things could only get better in time. But the pandemic was still far from over, and one of the hard-to-swallow byproducts of the quarantine was the issue of my boyfriend’s schooling. The reason we came all the way up here. The catalyst for this move. And for an Electrical Engineering student, remote courses were awfully difficult. We realized we couldn’t fight reality, as much as we tried to shovel it down. He would need to wait for classes in Buffalo to resume in-person for the fall semester. (And even with that extension, he would still need more credits when we move back downstate to ultimately acquire his advanced degree.) The details and nuances flowed back and forth in emotional conversations. I was anxious about things changing without any semblance of control. I was anxious about the new trajectory. We would have to stay here longer.

Come the end of February, we gratefully were able to book a stay for the weekend at Waneta Lake, rural lakeside town in the Finger Lakes, only two hours away from Buffalo. We pulled up to a quaint cottage and upon stepping inside, I immediately recalled childhood memories of my aunt and uncle’s home in Massachusetts. Perhaps it was the scent of firewood and wooden walls that lined the cottage’s interior that brought forth a feeling of comfort and familiarity. My favorite feature was the slide-in doors to a front porch that illuminated the lake in its entirety. It was frozen, but I was still in awe of its stillness. During our stay, I gravitated to the wintry, frozen lake. Whether it was day or night, I was able to inhale and exhale. I was able to dutifully reflect amidst one of nature’s beautiful backdrops.

****

I always loved the symbolism of every season, and I always yearned for the next seasonal transition; the optimism that naturally comes from a new season’s beginning.

It was being home during the pandemic, though, that truly cemented a thought process to wholeheartedly seize every season — to soak up all I could before it evaporates into the next one.

It is this seasonal reinvigoration that reinforces Buffalo’s charm and casts a glow around the region in ways that allows it to shine.

During the holiday season, I light candles that smell like Christmas cookies and gingerbread. We have multi-colored lights to hang inside the apartment. We walk through the aisles of Wegmans Market in search of Upstate Farms Egg Nog and cinnamon sticks. I bask in all the Christmas shows and movies on television. I begin leaning into the essence of what is talked about in all those songs — joy.

When the heart of winter arrives, Buffalo doesn’t necessarily produce insurmountable snowstorms (we don’t reside in the snow belt), but there are frequent snowfalls, of course. There are peaceful flurries. There are snowflakes that bring an inexplicable serenity on my night strolls around the cozy residential neighborhood.

Once spring flowers bloom, Buffalo begins its own rebirth. The blossoms appear in soft pastels. A waterfront restaurant in Canal Side opens its doors to outside seating to enjoy the views alongside a basket of Parmesan Truffle Frites.

It’s the pure magic of summer, though, that brings Buffalo to life. There’s the quaint homemade ice cream stands. The downtown waterfront with bright lights reflecting off the river and canals after sundown. A small riverside beach in Beaver Island for a refreshing swim. Mango-colored sunsets and summer air that isn’t quite as oppressive, overall. Lake Erie with its mesmerizing turquoise shimmer, making me feel thankful to be in its presence.

***

As I write this, it’s November of 2021, my birth month, and autumn’s imprint leaves its mark on every step I take. Autumn in Buffalo is a dreamland for pumpkin farms, apple orchards, apple cider doughnuts, fallen leaves, and scenic drives on country roads.The trees are slowly transitioning to prepare for winter. Change is gradual in that way. It doesn’t just happen overnight. It’s the in-between that needs time to be processed, nurtured, and even savored.

****

We are earnestly looking ahead; looking towards the next move. Back to our roots — our history. Back to our families and friends. Back to where we feel a sense of a belonging that’s deeply engrained. The logistics are still being worked out and some questions don’t have answers just yet. But that’s okay. I’m learning to trust that the stresses that come with moving should be a bit easier the second time around. I’m learning to trust the process and all the unknowns. I’m learning to trust that all the pieces will fall into place. Autumn shows us how that’s possible as the leaves find their place on steady ground.

Everything serves a purpose. A line that echoes through again and again.

Over the last few years, there were moments that were really hard. And yet, there were some really special moments, too — moments that I will store away for nostalgic reminiscence in the years to come. After all, it is a chapter of our lives. And our experiences together, nestled in a suburb of Buffalo, NY will always be a part of us.