The other week I was hit with some news while sitting on a rooftop in Williamsburg. Don't worry, you'll hear about it soon enough, I'm good about sharing.

I swear I was about 90% back on my road to recovery and then there I was, crying in public, blown away by some brand new shit. I was doing so well, but somehow life managed to add something to my list of grievances.

I had to remember where I was. I was in Brooklyn, staring back at Manhattan. I was fighting hard as hell to stop tears from streaming, keeping my eyes focused on the New York skyline, telling myself repeatedly:

"This is yours, you know. This is where you're supposed to be."

Since then I've adopted it as my mantra. Its my anthem, I own it.

I had to look back on the past year of my life just to get a sense of perspective. The only way to take apart a relationship that was so good on paper was to put it through a shredder and destroy the fuck out of it.

I was on a path with a man who I thought was my forever, but it was the wrong trail and it also turns out it was the wrong man. I'm meant for greater things, and I accept that for the meantime my journey is meant to be solo (dear God—please let it only be a minute). I am hustling hard in the city that never sleeps. I am growing as a designer and preparing myself for the next job title I have my eyes on. I've made a life for myself, by myself in New York City.

This is where I'm supposed to be, there is no denying that.