Can't Never Could.

And other phrases that have kept me going in the last 365 days.

Hi friends.

Here’s your song of the moment: You’re Gonna Go Far by Noah Kahan. A friend called it the anthem for long distance daughters and sons, which feels fitting these days.

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Any time I whined, “I can’t,” when I was little, I was quickly met with one phrase:

“Can’t never could.”

My Papa’s voice pronouncing can't with a twang that rhymed with ain’t rings in my ear anytime I want to throw up my hands. Maybe this was what contributed to my general fearlessness that my mother tells stories about, or maybe not. At that age, I was also throwing myself into the pool without floaties and handling my aunt’s German Shepard with no qualms.

As most adults do, though, I ended up earning fear (and anxiety) and needing more than three syllables to guide me in my daily pursuits. When I started graduate school, my days were quickly filled with writing papers and grading papers and generally staring at papers all day. In pure annoyance, I adopted another phrase:

”I can do anything for a year.”

So a year ago today, when my mom and dad hugged me and left me on the sidewalk of E 33rd Street, all three of us teary-eyed, I promised myself, “I can do anything for a year.”

Today marks the end of my first year as a New Yorker. And let me tell you, I am so damn proud of myself. This year has been an exploration of self, with vibrance and homesickness and love all rolled into 365 days. As I reflect on this last year, I think of the question I’ve been asked the most:

Is it all they say it is?

The answer is a resounding yes. And a quiet no. And it’s usually both at the same time.

On one hand, I have managed to craft a blossoming life for myself, all by myself. I’ve settled into a routine and found my favorite grocery stores and restaurants. I’ve forged excellent friendships with people who drag me to art galleries after work and chat over Sunday brunch and invite me to rooftop drinks. I’ve met a person who brightens each day, evoking deep laughter and sharing memories around the city and challenging me with adventure.

I’ve nurtured my creative nature by starting this newsletter and documenting my days. I’ve dreamt about my future and allowed those visions to soar in a way I didn’t think possible.

I’ve also issued intentionality into my relationships - though I can’t say I’ve mastered it. Calls, texts and cards have become more important as a way of showing up for the people in my life that matter most. And, I’ve had the best time showing my friends and family little parts of the city I now call home.

Most importantly, I’ve allowed myself to just live. To take life at face value and learn what it means to see myself outside of anyone else’s reflection.

It’s been beautiful.

But I also miss my other homes. There's a level of guilt and sadness that I’ve had to honor as I build my life here. Although I've been incredibly fortunate to make it home multiple times since I moved to New York, it’s been difficult to grapple with the little things that I miss.

Spontaneous weekends in Fancy Farm, gas station runs with my best friends, Gregory inviting me for dinner when he’s cooking, running errands with my people. I miss the holiday gatherings, and the gatherings just because.

For a few months now, I worried that the 800 miles of distance was damaging my relationships with my people. But God, the pride and confidence reflected back to me as I sit at familiar kitchen tables. It reminds me that these are the people who put these wild dreams in my head in the first place, the people who told me to never back down and to study hard and do amazing, incredible things. These are the people who told me, “can’t never could.” Why would they ever be upset with me for not letting fear stop me?

As I told you, the resounding yes and quiet no often accompany each other. Today, I spent my holiday in a quaint town an hour outside of New York City with someone who entered my life unexpectedly and has brought me so much joy. While we were enduring the heat and stressing about the potential thunderstorms and laughing at the chaos of an ice cream shop, I couldn’t help but imagine Independence Days past in Lexington and Fancy Farm. Transparently, I longed for home. Just a little.

So here’s what I’ve actually learned in the last year: I am lucky to love so many people and places so deeply. And I am lucky to love myself in a way that allows me to go all in on myself, to believe that I can - even if it’s just for a year.

Home really is where the heart is, and it would be so simple if our heart stayed in one place forever. Maybe it does for some, but mine didn’t. My heart has chipped away at itself to leave remnants within every little thing I love. As you now know, I’ve come to love this city for so many reasons, the same way I love my hometown and college town.

So a year ago today, when my mom and dad hugged me and left me on the sidewalk, I whispered, “I can do anything for a year.”

And my mom whispered, “You can always come home.” Throughout this year, I’ve found solace in that phrase. And then I realized, I have the luxury of having homes in so many places now. So maybe, probably, I will go home. Someday.

But today marks my first year as a New Yorker - and I want more.

With all of the love,

Chaney

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