July 26, 2005, I landed at JFK. A PA picked me up at the airport (I think it was Leo) and immediately took me to Silvercup Studios. I have the sticker still, and that is how I know that on this day 20 years ago, I moved to New York.

My original plan was to work on this weird TV show for a couple of weeks, go see my mom in Maine and then go back to Moscow to live my life, where I was working as a freelance translator and making oil paintings of chairs and had a super nice boyfriend.

Of course, that is not what ended up happening. What ended up happening was this: I stayed on the weird TV show for five months, I became a producer, I quit producing, I went to graduate school, I illustrated a book, I WROTE and illustrated a book, I started teaching, I moved what felt like a million times, but now that I am counting it was only maybe 9 times? I fell in and out of love (maybe 3-4 times?), I got a dog, my dog died, my grandmother died, more books came out, babies were born, new friends made and lost, best friends kept, new dog, studios moved in and out of and on and on and on…

Until we are today, in the equilibrium of what life is AT THE MOMENT, in which I have been living in New York for twenty years, the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere, and it is very hot, and I am wearing linen pants I bought at a furniture store on Long Island and a linen tank top my neighbor just handed-down, and Peggy the dog is around somewhere, and my baby brother (22) is asleep still in his room so I am trying to be quiet-ish, and I am having a latte I made at home from pods, I am annoyed at my hair, and did I mention it is hot? But the ceiling fans are on and the windows are open and I am about to go to the studio to finish the last painting of a book that is due on Monday…