I am writing this with humility and gratitude. This weekend as I packed away my summer things while Autumn in New York by Billie Holiday played in the background I came across a photo of myself from the year I had moved to this country. Now like all things instantly nostalgic, which can be either cliched or profound, a young girl in the picture stood upon the deck of the Staten Island Ferry looking at the Statue of Liberty and the New York City skyline in awe. And as I sat looking at that picture, I began to reflect on how far I had come; looking upon those same sights from my high-rise apartment, my small dog in my lap, it hit me that I am living my dream. Here is what it took to make that dream my waking reality: At eighteen I moved to the USA with a suitcase, a limited command of the English language and a
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