i just returned yesterday from eleven wonderful days in new york. my trip was an excellent break from the monotonous routine of home and holidays, from the stresses of the past few months (and there have been many). i spent new years eve and the following week in the company of one of my most long-time friends. during this trip, i once again found myself browsing apartments for rent in my friend's new neighborhood, jackson heights, queens. when the time came to board the plane, i was actually ready to head back to north carolina -- i felt inspired, ready to write more music and move forward with the life i have built here.
this morning, my landlord unexpectedly knocked on my door. he chose today to tell me that he can no longer rent to me, that he needs the apartment for a sick family member who is moving to town for medical care. since i pay on a month-to-month basis with no formal contract, even though i have asked repeatedly to resign my rental contract (this is a lapse on both our parts), there is nothing i can do. i must move. he's giving me until march to find a new place. i am absolutely devastated. this loft has been my home for almost two years. it is my "new york in north carolina". i had intended to stay here for as long as possible, and now those dreams are dashed.
what a way to start a saturday morning. what a forced march towards something new. i suppose i could look at it as an adventure, but right now i can't see past the shock and pain. it is one thing to choose to leave when physically and emotionally ready, but it is quite another to be shoved out unexpectedly with no prospects in sight. the next two months will probably be rather rocky, and it comes at a time when i had just regained some semblance of footing from a rougher-than-usual autumn. all of this, with the smell of new york still lingering in my hair.
"our homes are our sanctuaries. they're our inviolate caves, the place we feel most safe and secure, where nothing outside can touch us."-PLR
Showing posts with label ny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ny. Show all posts
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Sunday, September 11, 2011
ten years later
ten years ago, i was sitting in american history class at my high school. outside of that classroom, american history was being made. as part of the newspaper staff, i was pulled from class shortly after the first tower was hit to view live coverage of the event. i watched the towers fall, wanting the whole time to cringe and turn away but refraining. a few years later, i visited new york and stood in what once was their shadow, and choked back tears, trying desperately to comprehend the loss of life we'd experienced as a nation. knowing thousands of people had died within blocks of exactly where i was standing. it was a feeling i'd never known, fear and bravery, fight and flight.
that day, i became more than a north carolina native, more than a united states citizen. i became, in my mind, a citizen of the world, with a new awareness that these things can and do happen. i didn't lose anyone personally. i didn't even know my new york friends, at that time. it was the first time in my life that the gravity of national events had ever affected me in such a manner. it pulled me down, held me in place, and hit me over and over until my ungrateful heart became grateful -- for life, for this kind of life, for those who provide it and sustain it... and for just how lucky i am to be born into it. this consciousness, for me, will always be tied to new york, and tied to this date. it will always jerk tears from my body, because i so often forget these things in the course of my privileged daily life.
ten years ago. that makes me feel old. at least i was able to grow older. at least that searing pain of loss, for me, is not a physical one. for so many, though, it is. they have sense memory of that day -- the sounds and smells, the adrenaline pounding them from the inside out, the rushed calls to relatives and the long walk home. words will never do it justice, especially not my words. it lives beneath the skin of the survivors, still subconsciously covered in fallen building dust. miles away, still waiting for a call that never came from a loved one who would never come home. the eyes on the other side of the television screen, knowing that they'd soon be called up to fight.
from we who viewed from afar. for everyone who will never forget. in honor of consciousness. don't forget to live.
that day, i became more than a north carolina native, more than a united states citizen. i became, in my mind, a citizen of the world, with a new awareness that these things can and do happen. i didn't lose anyone personally. i didn't even know my new york friends, at that time. it was the first time in my life that the gravity of national events had ever affected me in such a manner. it pulled me down, held me in place, and hit me over and over until my ungrateful heart became grateful -- for life, for this kind of life, for those who provide it and sustain it... and for just how lucky i am to be born into it. this consciousness, for me, will always be tied to new york, and tied to this date. it will always jerk tears from my body, because i so often forget these things in the course of my privileged daily life.
ten years ago. that makes me feel old. at least i was able to grow older. at least that searing pain of loss, for me, is not a physical one. for so many, though, it is. they have sense memory of that day -- the sounds and smells, the adrenaline pounding them from the inside out, the rushed calls to relatives and the long walk home. words will never do it justice, especially not my words. it lives beneath the skin of the survivors, still subconsciously covered in fallen building dust. miles away, still waiting for a call that never came from a loved one who would never come home. the eyes on the other side of the television screen, knowing that they'd soon be called up to fight.
from we who viewed from afar. for everyone who will never forget. in honor of consciousness. don't forget to live.
Friday, June 3, 2011
and then some
well, i suppose it's common knowledge by now that i absolutely suck at keeping this journal updated, but i've run into some recent developments that definitely merit mention.
first of all, i'm days away from the six month deadline i set for myself, for a decision and possible move to new york. and no, i haven't been ridiculously busy preparing for a move -- i really do just suck at updating. i have still been combing through my possessions and getting things pretty well together for a move of some sort, but at least until the end of september, i'm here to stay. i still have several large pieces of furniture i'd like to sell, for sure -- my couch and my entertainment center, for sure. i've had no luck on craigslist with either of them, at a reasonable price, though.
second, as far back as mid-february, i decided that i'd much rather spend the summer hanging out with the preschooler i nanny, and with my newly-one-year-old nephew gabe, than jet off to new york with no prospects. i called up my landlord, and extended my lease through august 31st. we didn't even sign any paperwork -- my landlord has been absolutely amazing through all of my indecisiveness, and he was fine with a verbal month-to-month payment. my official lease terminated at the end of may, and i've just made my first slightly elevated month's rent payment. i'm feeling great about my space -- the more i personalize it, the more i enjoy it.
you'll notice, third, that i said i extended to the end of august in the previous paragraph, and the end of september in the first one. there's a reason for that. last week, my employers dropped a huge surprise in my lap, one i never would have expected. first, on monday, they gauged my interest in the idea, and by tuesday they'd signed contracts and starting nailing everything down. the news? the four of us (my nanny family, plus me) will be spending seven weeks in St. Maarten, a French-Dutch island in the Caribbean. the seven weeks ends on august 31, which would be incredibly impractical for a move, so extending my lease and buying extra time seemed to be the best option.
more big news? my landlord is interested in putting the loft on the market. he mentioned when i first signed the lease that he was interested in eventually selling, and would definitely consider me when the time came. now, i know i'm not terribly interested in or even able to buy a place, but both he and the realtor are very interested in selling to me, and they're willing to go to some effort to make that happen. so, tenuous though my financials may be, it at least bears consideration. scary!
so, that's what i'm processing right now. half a summer on a tropical island, possibly purchasing a future income property or moving into a new local place, and making peace with no (permanent) new york. i have this great feeling of "right place, right time" at the moment... but that doesn't mean i'm not already mentally planning my next new york vacation!
first of all, i'm days away from the six month deadline i set for myself, for a decision and possible move to new york. and no, i haven't been ridiculously busy preparing for a move -- i really do just suck at updating. i have still been combing through my possessions and getting things pretty well together for a move of some sort, but at least until the end of september, i'm here to stay. i still have several large pieces of furniture i'd like to sell, for sure -- my couch and my entertainment center, for sure. i've had no luck on craigslist with either of them, at a reasonable price, though.
second, as far back as mid-february, i decided that i'd much rather spend the summer hanging out with the preschooler i nanny, and with my newly-one-year-old nephew gabe, than jet off to new york with no prospects. i called up my landlord, and extended my lease through august 31st. we didn't even sign any paperwork -- my landlord has been absolutely amazing through all of my indecisiveness, and he was fine with a verbal month-to-month payment. my official lease terminated at the end of may, and i've just made my first slightly elevated month's rent payment. i'm feeling great about my space -- the more i personalize it, the more i enjoy it.
you'll notice, third, that i said i extended to the end of august in the previous paragraph, and the end of september in the first one. there's a reason for that. last week, my employers dropped a huge surprise in my lap, one i never would have expected. first, on monday, they gauged my interest in the idea, and by tuesday they'd signed contracts and starting nailing everything down. the news? the four of us (my nanny family, plus me) will be spending seven weeks in St. Maarten, a French-Dutch island in the Caribbean. the seven weeks ends on august 31, which would be incredibly impractical for a move, so extending my lease and buying extra time seemed to be the best option.
more big news? my landlord is interested in putting the loft on the market. he mentioned when i first signed the lease that he was interested in eventually selling, and would definitely consider me when the time came. now, i know i'm not terribly interested in or even able to buy a place, but both he and the realtor are very interested in selling to me, and they're willing to go to some effort to make that happen. so, tenuous though my financials may be, it at least bears consideration. scary!
so, that's what i'm processing right now. half a summer on a tropical island, possibly purchasing a future income property or moving into a new local place, and making peace with no (permanent) new york. i have this great feeling of "right place, right time" at the moment... but that doesn't mean i'm not already mentally planning my next new york vacation!
Monday, January 24, 2011
have guitar, will travel
sometimes i forget that i lived a life before this one, that my expression has evolved many times to make me the person and artist i am today. while cleaning out my closet, i unearthed my guitars. there are three. the first, a purple electric, was a gift i begged for when i was thirteen years old. it was more the idea of being a guitarist that i wanted, and so it sat for at least two years before i ever really endeavored to play it. a dear friend taught me some chords, which turned into songs, which pushed me into playing shows with my original material. throughout high school, that was my identity, my art. i lived and breathed my music, craved the outlet. i wrote song after song, played shows to tiny packed-out coffeehouses. they were simple songs, simple expressions of the chaos of my teenage life.
moving into my early twenties, i made my first relocation. the city had a bigger and better music scene. it was more difficult to break into, and i lost my nerve. instead, i began to enjoy listening to music, attending shows rather than enduring the pressure of playing them. i tried to keep up the practice schedule and writing sessions, but my previous desperate need for it was no longer there. during college, my heart got ripped out of my chest in a multitude of ways. for catharsis, i started writing lyrics again, and found myself singing songs under my breath again. after one particularly tumultuous semester and the decision to drop out of school, i decided to enlist as a summer camp counselor. i knew i wouldn't be able to take my electric rig with me, and thus i purchased my second guitar, a black acoustic.
that guitar traveled everywhere with me. its case still has homeland security tape and airport claim tags attached to it, from my very first airplane trip. because it's the first guitar i bought for myself, it's more special to me than the third guitar (a white electric i bought while trying to revive my music mini-career for all the wrong reasons). it's that simple black acoustic that called me from its case, interrupting my organization progress. i picked up my old friend, and played a few songs. some were my own. some were songs of others i like and sing particularly well. of course, my voice is not in shape and my fingertip callouses have faded. i couldn't play for too long without it hurting in various ways, and without being reminded of old hurts, as well, the catalyst behind so many of my songs. when i sang my last note, loud and strong, it lingered in the room, bouncing off the walls of my loft.
in so many ways, i'm still that girl with the black guitar who nervously stepped onstage and could barely sing loud enough for anyone to hear. i am still self-conscious and self-critical, and i still don't believe i have the guts to follow my dreams. the echo of my own voice, so much stronger than it used to be, tells me that i am also a new sort of girl, a girl not afraid to lay her soul bare and take chances with her life. i'm still self-conscious, but i don't let it hold me back. i'm still self-critical, but i use it to make myself better. i DO have the guts to follow my dreams. they're just different dreams, now. they will always evolve, as will i. i wonder how long i will carry the black guitar with me, how many more airport claim tags it might accumulate, and from what cities. how many more songs will i write on her strings? will our next time together find me stronger or weaker? will i ever sell her? will i ever be able? after all, i am still the girl with the black guitar, only now i carry her, instead of her carrying me.
moving into my early twenties, i made my first relocation. the city had a bigger and better music scene. it was more difficult to break into, and i lost my nerve. instead, i began to enjoy listening to music, attending shows rather than enduring the pressure of playing them. i tried to keep up the practice schedule and writing sessions, but my previous desperate need for it was no longer there. during college, my heart got ripped out of my chest in a multitude of ways. for catharsis, i started writing lyrics again, and found myself singing songs under my breath again. after one particularly tumultuous semester and the decision to drop out of school, i decided to enlist as a summer camp counselor. i knew i wouldn't be able to take my electric rig with me, and thus i purchased my second guitar, a black acoustic.
that guitar traveled everywhere with me. its case still has homeland security tape and airport claim tags attached to it, from my very first airplane trip. because it's the first guitar i bought for myself, it's more special to me than the third guitar (a white electric i bought while trying to revive my music mini-career for all the wrong reasons). it's that simple black acoustic that called me from its case, interrupting my organization progress. i picked up my old friend, and played a few songs. some were my own. some were songs of others i like and sing particularly well. of course, my voice is not in shape and my fingertip callouses have faded. i couldn't play for too long without it hurting in various ways, and without being reminded of old hurts, as well, the catalyst behind so many of my songs. when i sang my last note, loud and strong, it lingered in the room, bouncing off the walls of my loft.
in so many ways, i'm still that girl with the black guitar who nervously stepped onstage and could barely sing loud enough for anyone to hear. i am still self-conscious and self-critical, and i still don't believe i have the guts to follow my dreams. the echo of my own voice, so much stronger than it used to be, tells me that i am also a new sort of girl, a girl not afraid to lay her soul bare and take chances with her life. i'm still self-conscious, but i don't let it hold me back. i'm still self-critical, but i use it to make myself better. i DO have the guts to follow my dreams. they're just different dreams, now. they will always evolve, as will i. i wonder how long i will carry the black guitar with me, how many more airport claim tags it might accumulate, and from what cities. how many more songs will i write on her strings? will our next time together find me stronger or weaker? will i ever sell her? will i ever be able? after all, i am still the girl with the black guitar, only now i carry her, instead of her carrying me.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
defining my style
i just took an online quiz i found at [sproost.com]. it was fairly comprehensive, and involved me looking at a LOT of photos of rooms and rating them. much like rating one of my journal entries, i had to choose whether i hate the room, don't like the room, think the room is just okay, like the room, or love the room. i could choose to single out various elements that i like or don't like, but for this, i just examined the room as a whole. below are my results, with words and phrases i truly identify with italicized. seeing it all laid out like this, i can see the cohesion!!
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40% Vintage Modern
Flea Market anyone? You know you are drawn to modern furniture and interiors, and yet you really don't like a space that feels cold and sterile. And who could blame you? And that's why Vintage Modern is so appealing to you. Though the backdrop of the room, the walls and windows, are many times white or monochromatic, the furniture and accessories have the color, shape and texture to bring the warmth into the space. The great thing about Vintage Modern is ease of mixing different styles in the one space. You can have a new modular sofa mixed with a great pair of chairs that your grandmother purchased in the late 1950's and the new and old work appear as though they were destined for each other. What's great is that even if you don't have time for swap meets and garage sales, so many of the pieces from the mid-century were so great that they have been remade and mimicked year after year.Materials
The other great thing about Vintage Modern is how low maintenance it can be — fabrics such as cotton, microfiber or ultra-suede and leather all look great and function even better. So whether you are having a cocktail party with friends, or kids are in the picture, the room and the furnishings can handle it. Because the style harkens back to the early twentieth century, the innovative developed during that time are very popular: acrylic, plastic and fiberglass, chrome and steel, and molded plywood. Concrete floors, countertops and furniture are also very popular and lacquered finishes are very common.Colors
When it comes to color, walls are seen as backdrops for the room. Neutral tones of gray, white, beige and brown are very common and black is a common accent color. Pops of color on the art, furniture and accessories can vary dramatically based on the person, however very common colors are teal blues, army greens and yellow as well as deep oranges and bright reds.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
40% Cottage Chic
Who says that cottages can't be modern and chic? Who says that they have to be floral and cheesy? Not you! You love the carefree spirit that the cottage interior inspires, but you are also serious about your appreciation for modern art and hip treasures. You love old and new alike, and love to highlight them all to expose the uniqueness of each. What better way to show off these treasures than with a light background?Materials
You have a great sense of humor when it comes to design and even like to make fun of the style itself. Which means that you will throw in a toy boat or a vintage life preserver to keep the mood of the place just like the color: light! The fabrics are natural (cottons and linens) and are light in touch. Much of the furniture is wood or wood framed (the lighter the better, think driftwood!) and as long as it's used sparingly or with modern lines, you even throw in a wicker piece here and there.Colors
Your true inspiration (whether you know it or not) is the sea... the colors found at your favorite beach: white and light beige of the sand, a variety of blues for the ocean and sky, and greens and pale grays of the sea glass... but the key is white! Your space should feel light and airy and give off the mood one has when at the beach: laid back! The key with Cottage Chic is balance; in one corner there could be a rustic wood table that looks like it could have been found rather than made, but it is offset with a modern vase while another corner is adorned with a modern Lucite piece.Space Planning
The furniture is comfortable and the layout is cozy. The more it encourages intimate gatherings the better! Just watch out for the red wine spills on the new white sofa! The color throughout is light and airy - and though you love to accessorize with fun colors (the sky's the limit with a white background), the main color seen and felt throughout the house is white or very light versions of colors so that they feel almost white.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
20% Rustic Revival
You can take kid out of the country but you can't take the country out of the kid... or is your theme "you can take the kid out of the city, but you can't take the city out of the kid?" Either way you play it, you are one of the unique individuals who loves a mix of modern and country. The clean lines of the modern softened by rustic /vintage elements is the perfect mix in your mind. And can we blame you? You've taken the best aspects of two popular designs and mixed them in a manner that appeals young and old alike. A subtle background of white or light colors provides a nice canvas for all the wonderful flea market, eBay or garage sale finds as well as the classic modern pieces that you love.Materials
The material palette for urban country runs the gamut because of the two extremes being mixed. On the countryside you see a lot of wood, woven rope, canvas and linen, rustic metals and wrought iron, cowhide and vintage leather. On the more modern side, you see acrylic, satin and polished nickel and chrome, glass, faux fur, refined leather, fiberglass and sleek woods. It's the mixing of these elements that makes the style work so well. Seagrass and other natural woven materials are often used for floor coverings. Concrete and natural wood floors are very popular, and work really well together.Colors
When it comes to color, think light, casual and airy. White, pale gray or beige, khaki and sage; all of these colors make nice, subtle backdrops for Urban Country style. Think of the colors of natural linen, concrete, and if you'd like to go dark, use the dark brownish-black of iron or the deep burnt orange of rust. The key is to keep the spaces feeling open (go modern!) and yet warm (yay for rustic!), and by going light on the walls and major pieces and more color on the accents and accessories you can achieve this mix really well.the furniture isn't fulfilling me anymore
as i've previously mentioned, i've moved a lot in the past few years, usually once every year. after never moving, not even once in my childhood, it was definitely a big change. there's a scramble to pull together furniture and other possessions to make your home look like it has enough. this, for me, has been a huge trap. first of all, you can't satisfy yourself with possessions. you can only make yourself slightly more comfortable. second, stylistically, i've never really been forced (or even thought about, quite frankly) to define myself, my style. this has lead to a lot of collecting, of keeping objects that don't really "fit" with my space, because they now hold emotional value. i'm starting to learn to pull from those things to find a cohesive style.
my first home was one of four bedrooms in a third-floor apartment. for a while, my only furniture was a twin-sized mattress (on the floor), a navy butterfly chair, and a waist-high black wire shelving unit. all of my possessions fit into four plastic bins. i accumulated slowly. i bought a silver metal loft bed with an attached desk underneath (to date, the most expensive piece of furniture i've ever purchased). i bought a black metal futon, and shoulder-height black wire rack. for a while, the room seemed perfect: a place to sleep, a place to work, a place to lounge, and a way to organize. they all coordinated, by color and style, using basic materials. it was simple but held the necessities, small but light-filled, and i was happy.
there is a lot of emotion involved in purchasing, for some folks, and i guess i'm one of them. as i moved into progressively bigger residences, i acquired more stuff (furniture, clothing, decorative and personal accessories). i thought, somehow, that a nice house filled with nice things, would make me a more whole and better person. think again! my unhappiness with myself would grow, and i would feel the need to escape. my friends would help me pack, and schlep my stuff to the next residence. the final culmination of this insane thought process lead me into leasing a house that was far beyond my means, and far larger than one person should ever need. the sad part is that i didn't need to BUY any more furniture in order to put something in every room. every room doubled in size, but the furniture from my previous place still fit, in perfect proportion. when i left that house, i left behind a lot of emotional baggage, and donated almost two carloads of previously important possessions.
it's taken me nine months to come to terms with removing some of the rest of the dead weight, but with my furniture on the outs, i felt lighter, ready to move on. after a long week of work, i began to sort through my walk-in closet, an even bigger emotional minefield because it's tied directly to my body. i sorted items into several different categories. one group is clothing that i love and absolutely must keep, the essentials of my style and items i find myself washing once a week because i can't comprehend not having them available to wear. another group consists of items that fit and function, but that i either don't love or haven't worn more than a few times in the past year -- the maybe pile. there's a third pile of items that would be great and i would wear more often... if they were slightly altered (those of you who know me, know i often alter clothes temporarily on my own, but these are headed for a professional). the final group is the sell or donate pile, items that don't fit my body or my style. there's also, in my head, an entire line of conceptual clothes -- items i can't find in a particular color, cut, or fabric, but would love to own. thus, i recently bought a sewing machine in hopes of making them myself.
even still, the contents of my closet is cumbersome: there are long-sleeve layering tees and short sleeve layering tees, wear-alone tees and tank tops. there are dresses for hot days and hot nights, and skirts for when i'm feeling girly. there are low-slung leg-hugging jeans, and comfy cargo pants. there are shorts, for summer. there's even a floor-length dress, but i think i'll have it shortened to knee-length (impractical, in the city). there is a lot of clothing, and somehow, there still isn't enough. there aren't enough light-weight structured jackets for milder weather (though there are plenty of sleeveless tops needing them). there aren't enough of this one particular top that i wore so much last summer, that it's wearing through and getting pilly. there are never enough jeans that fit my ever-changing body perfectly. at least, now, i am starting to realize that clothing is just another of my artistic expressions. some works of art may be an immediate success, and some need additional work to become their best. some are just meant to be kept close for comfort (my favorite pajamas), and some are meant to display for all the world to see.
in the sell or donate pile, there are many items that no longer have a place. they were bought with a particular outfit in mind, or in an effort to be someone whom i'm not (that silk, pink flower-covered dress... or shimmering tops for nights on the town). some of these items are emotionally charged -- they embody a part of my personality (i can occasionally be girly and sweet), but they don't work for my actual body (a clinging silk dress? why did i buy that?!), and their presence is just a burden. shoes are the same... the two pairs of sling-back heels are only cute if i'm not going to walk for ten blocks, and the four pairs of suede boots make me stalk the weather forecast for an unusually precipitation-free day.
of course, you don't have to get rid of everything you love... you just have to decide what's worth schlepping across the country. what means enough that it's worth the sweat from my own brow? it's easy to hang on to things when someone else is shouldering the burden, but when you're doing it yourself, there's a certain amount of pretense that goes out the door and straight to the nearest donation center. beyond that, i'm sure, at some point, i'll end up repopulating my residence with encumbrances that make feel good. i can only strive to make sure that those items aren't trying to fill some big emotional hole in me, instead of the physical space where a couch should be.
my first home was one of four bedrooms in a third-floor apartment. for a while, my only furniture was a twin-sized mattress (on the floor), a navy butterfly chair, and a waist-high black wire shelving unit. all of my possessions fit into four plastic bins. i accumulated slowly. i bought a silver metal loft bed with an attached desk underneath (to date, the most expensive piece of furniture i've ever purchased). i bought a black metal futon, and shoulder-height black wire rack. for a while, the room seemed perfect: a place to sleep, a place to work, a place to lounge, and a way to organize. they all coordinated, by color and style, using basic materials. it was simple but held the necessities, small but light-filled, and i was happy.
there is a lot of emotion involved in purchasing, for some folks, and i guess i'm one of them. as i moved into progressively bigger residences, i acquired more stuff (furniture, clothing, decorative and personal accessories). i thought, somehow, that a nice house filled with nice things, would make me a more whole and better person. think again! my unhappiness with myself would grow, and i would feel the need to escape. my friends would help me pack, and schlep my stuff to the next residence. the final culmination of this insane thought process lead me into leasing a house that was far beyond my means, and far larger than one person should ever need. the sad part is that i didn't need to BUY any more furniture in order to put something in every room. every room doubled in size, but the furniture from my previous place still fit, in perfect proportion. when i left that house, i left behind a lot of emotional baggage, and donated almost two carloads of previously important possessions.
it's taken me nine months to come to terms with removing some of the rest of the dead weight, but with my furniture on the outs, i felt lighter, ready to move on. after a long week of work, i began to sort through my walk-in closet, an even bigger emotional minefield because it's tied directly to my body. i sorted items into several different categories. one group is clothing that i love and absolutely must keep, the essentials of my style and items i find myself washing once a week because i can't comprehend not having them available to wear. another group consists of items that fit and function, but that i either don't love or haven't worn more than a few times in the past year -- the maybe pile. there's a third pile of items that would be great and i would wear more often... if they were slightly altered (those of you who know me, know i often alter clothes temporarily on my own, but these are headed for a professional). the final group is the sell or donate pile, items that don't fit my body or my style. there's also, in my head, an entire line of conceptual clothes -- items i can't find in a particular color, cut, or fabric, but would love to own. thus, i recently bought a sewing machine in hopes of making them myself.
even still, the contents of my closet is cumbersome: there are long-sleeve layering tees and short sleeve layering tees, wear-alone tees and tank tops. there are dresses for hot days and hot nights, and skirts for when i'm feeling girly. there are low-slung leg-hugging jeans, and comfy cargo pants. there are shorts, for summer. there's even a floor-length dress, but i think i'll have it shortened to knee-length (impractical, in the city). there is a lot of clothing, and somehow, there still isn't enough. there aren't enough light-weight structured jackets for milder weather (though there are plenty of sleeveless tops needing them). there aren't enough of this one particular top that i wore so much last summer, that it's wearing through and getting pilly. there are never enough jeans that fit my ever-changing body perfectly. at least, now, i am starting to realize that clothing is just another of my artistic expressions. some works of art may be an immediate success, and some need additional work to become their best. some are just meant to be kept close for comfort (my favorite pajamas), and some are meant to display for all the world to see.
in the sell or donate pile, there are many items that no longer have a place. they were bought with a particular outfit in mind, or in an effort to be someone whom i'm not (that silk, pink flower-covered dress... or shimmering tops for nights on the town). some of these items are emotionally charged -- they embody a part of my personality (i can occasionally be girly and sweet), but they don't work for my actual body (a clinging silk dress? why did i buy that?!), and their presence is just a burden. shoes are the same... the two pairs of sling-back heels are only cute if i'm not going to walk for ten blocks, and the four pairs of suede boots make me stalk the weather forecast for an unusually precipitation-free day.
of course, you don't have to get rid of everything you love... you just have to decide what's worth schlepping across the country. what means enough that it's worth the sweat from my own brow? it's easy to hang on to things when someone else is shouldering the burden, but when you're doing it yourself, there's a certain amount of pretense that goes out the door and straight to the nearest donation center. beyond that, i'm sure, at some point, i'll end up repopulating my residence with encumbrances that make feel good. i can only strive to make sure that those items aren't trying to fill some big emotional hole in me, instead of the physical space where a couch should be.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
sorting it out
the freight elevator in my building has been out of order for a little over a week. most of the furniture was meant to be gone by now, but instead it lingers and stales the atmosphere. for the first time, my urgency to sort my possessions has taken a brief recess. lack of physical progression, though, has never seemed to halt my mental movements. my brain grinds at a frequency at which sometimes even i marvel. it tends to make me internally analytical, sometimes overly so, when i'm actually paying attention to it (as implied, i DO tune it out occasionally -- a girl needs to sleep sometimes). it also tends to make me wordy.
unlike my usual late-night insomniatic wonderings, my newest contemplations gripped me in the middle of the day: an undeniable case of the what-ifs. my what-ifs are particularly tricky because i'm fairly logical. i try to consider all of the possible outcomes, and along with that comes the dreaded worst case scenario. i won't elaborate on my own personal nightmare here, because even the thought of it is enough to make me stop in my tracks, paralyzed with fear, desperate for escape from a plan i've put in motion. of course, in considering the bad, i've learned i must also consider the good; not just of what could come, but what HAS come. looking back over the past year, i have made huge leaps and bounds in my personal emotional health. recalling that information, writing it all down, has helped to clear some of the cobwebs off of my dusty life plans and allowed me to make some new, revelatory conclusions.
for the first time in my life, i don't feel like i'm running away from something. i have been running, emotionally, for a long time, which is almost comical to me because i really dislike physical running. running for its own sake just seems pointless to me, and can even do damage to your body if done improperly. running, emotionally, does a different kind of damage. i've been pounding that pavement for years, in order to get far enough removed from my myriad of problems (distance equals self-control) to clear my head. i haven't been trying to escape, per se... just gain perspective (by the way, this is called denial). in reality, running from something bigger than you (life truths) doesn't make it go away -- it just means that it will eventually catch up with you and tackle you while you're breathless and unprepared.
i hadn't been weighing the potential outcome of willingly taking the hit, that it might make me stronger, not destroy me. so, i took a chance i've never previously taken -- i stopped running and stood still. i let grief and loss catch up with me. instead of the tackle i expected, it was more like high tide; not one, but continuous unrelenting waves. i thought, for a moment, that i'd drown, but instead i learned to float, then swim. when i finally hit the shore, for a few moments, i even wallowed in the shallows. i had grown accustomed to the tossing waves, the gasping for breath. it didn't feel right to stand on my own feet, to breathe unencumbered.
okay, enough of this big distracting metaphor -- flowery prose aside, in the past year, i finally faced a LOT of issues from my past. i really dug into myself and started to examine my intimacy issues and insecurities, about why i behave in certain ways, instead of only making excuses (such as "it's just who i am"). it's easy to focus on negative behaviors when you're self-critical, and difficult to see the good in yourself, especially when start attributing much of your entire being to external stimuli, and when so much of that stimuli is negative. fortunately, i've figured out that, as a result of the trials in my life, i'm a fairly strong person and not entirely dysfunctional -- i have the ability to actually examine myself and improve.
yes, i can see the events of the past through a much clearer lens, but i've also been able to think about the future in a way that is neither full of absolute denial or abject fear. i know that it's coming. i've even planned for it more than a few months in advance. i've made big life decisions and found something that that fits, for me, for now. it doesn't mean i don't still have fears about how my decisions will play out. what it does mean, though, is that i'm more prepared. of course, i'm still a little near-sighted, can't always see things completely clearly when they're very far away, but i can see vague shapes. looking ahead to my life six months in the future, i can see this giant looming in the distance:
it's entirely possible that i need to contemplate all of these major changes, in order to realize how beautiful my life has become. my life's beauty, much like new york's, is in its realism. i am human. i am subject to external forces, both good and bad, some of which i cannot control. however, i can control my reaction. enter, one of my oldest favorite quotes:
""i guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. and maybe we'll never know most of them. but even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. we can still do things. and we can try to feel okay about them."
[charlie, from 'the perks of being a wallflower' by stephen chbosky]
the beauty of my humanity is something i can carry with me regardless of where i lay my head. it doesn't need a suitcase or bookshelf. it isn't reflected in my number of possessions, whether great or small. it is reflected in the value of the life i choose. it is reflected in the fact that i actually HAVE a choice, instead of just letting life happen to me.
the freight elevator is finally working again. the furniture is still waiting to be removed. it's an encumberance that can't remove itself (though i very much wish it could), but requires a vehicle to move it to its next destination. maybe moving to new york will be the next vehicle my life needs. or maybe not. maybe just the contemplation will be enough.
unlike my usual late-night insomniatic wonderings, my newest contemplations gripped me in the middle of the day: an undeniable case of the what-ifs. my what-ifs are particularly tricky because i'm fairly logical. i try to consider all of the possible outcomes, and along with that comes the dreaded worst case scenario. i won't elaborate on my own personal nightmare here, because even the thought of it is enough to make me stop in my tracks, paralyzed with fear, desperate for escape from a plan i've put in motion. of course, in considering the bad, i've learned i must also consider the good; not just of what could come, but what HAS come. looking back over the past year, i have made huge leaps and bounds in my personal emotional health. recalling that information, writing it all down, has helped to clear some of the cobwebs off of my dusty life plans and allowed me to make some new, revelatory conclusions.
for the first time in my life, i don't feel like i'm running away from something. i have been running, emotionally, for a long time, which is almost comical to me because i really dislike physical running. running for its own sake just seems pointless to me, and can even do damage to your body if done improperly. running, emotionally, does a different kind of damage. i've been pounding that pavement for years, in order to get far enough removed from my myriad of problems (distance equals self-control) to clear my head. i haven't been trying to escape, per se... just gain perspective (by the way, this is called denial). in reality, running from something bigger than you (life truths) doesn't make it go away -- it just means that it will eventually catch up with you and tackle you while you're breathless and unprepared.
i hadn't been weighing the potential outcome of willingly taking the hit, that it might make me stronger, not destroy me. so, i took a chance i've never previously taken -- i stopped running and stood still. i let grief and loss catch up with me. instead of the tackle i expected, it was more like high tide; not one, but continuous unrelenting waves. i thought, for a moment, that i'd drown, but instead i learned to float, then swim. when i finally hit the shore, for a few moments, i even wallowed in the shallows. i had grown accustomed to the tossing waves, the gasping for breath. it didn't feel right to stand on my own feet, to breathe unencumbered.
okay, enough of this big distracting metaphor -- flowery prose aside, in the past year, i finally faced a LOT of issues from my past. i really dug into myself and started to examine my intimacy issues and insecurities, about why i behave in certain ways, instead of only making excuses (such as "it's just who i am"). it's easy to focus on negative behaviors when you're self-critical, and difficult to see the good in yourself, especially when start attributing much of your entire being to external stimuli, and when so much of that stimuli is negative. fortunately, i've figured out that, as a result of the trials in my life, i'm a fairly strong person and not entirely dysfunctional -- i have the ability to actually examine myself and improve.
yes, i can see the events of the past through a much clearer lens, but i've also been able to think about the future in a way that is neither full of absolute denial or abject fear. i know that it's coming. i've even planned for it more than a few months in advance. i've made big life decisions and found something that that fits, for me, for now. it doesn't mean i don't still have fears about how my decisions will play out. what it does mean, though, is that i'm more prepared. of course, i'm still a little near-sighted, can't always see things completely clearly when they're very far away, but i can see vague shapes. looking ahead to my life six months in the future, i can see this giant looming in the distance:
it's entirely possible that i need to contemplate all of these major changes, in order to realize how beautiful my life has become. my life's beauty, much like new york's, is in its realism. i am human. i am subject to external forces, both good and bad, some of which i cannot control. however, i can control my reaction. enter, one of my oldest favorite quotes:
""i guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. and maybe we'll never know most of them. but even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. we can still do things. and we can try to feel okay about them."
[charlie, from 'the perks of being a wallflower' by stephen chbosky]
the beauty of my humanity is something i can carry with me regardless of where i lay my head. it doesn't need a suitcase or bookshelf. it isn't reflected in my number of possessions, whether great or small. it is reflected in the value of the life i choose. it is reflected in the fact that i actually HAVE a choice, instead of just letting life happen to me.
the freight elevator is finally working again. the furniture is still waiting to be removed. it's an encumberance that can't remove itself (though i very much wish it could), but requires a vehicle to move it to its next destination. maybe moving to new york will be the next vehicle my life needs. or maybe not. maybe just the contemplation will be enough.
Monday, January 17, 2011
several social experiments later
a few nights after my solo movie jaunt, i found out that a great local band was playing at a new bar just down the street from my loft. going to a movie by myself didn't seem that taxing or adventurous. going to a bar alone would be a very different, and ambitious, undertaking. i wavered on the decision until i couldn't think of a truly valid reason not to go. i got lucky -- the first seat i happened upon was an empty single barstool. i had a drink, and chased it with several small ice waters. leaving my scarf and near-empty bag on the chair, i and my wallet lit off for the restroom. when i returned, another water was waiting. the band played mostly covers, and i sat, slowly sipping my second drink. i must have looked a little funny, sitting alone, smiling into my drink as i mouthed the words. when the band finished their set, i left, feeling silly. it wasn't nearly as difficult as i'd made it out to be.
saturday night, i saw the same band again, at a community arts theater. i caught maybe ten minutes of the show, due to leaving work late. in the rush to arrive, i forgot i'd need dinner. i should have known it was coming -- my bravery and logic make a great team. one of my regular haunts would definitely be open late and serving great food. i already seen a movie alone, gone to a bar alone, and attended a show alone. why not visit a favorite restaurant? sitting at the four-top booth, i ordered my dinner and whipped out my netbook. the other patrons chatted happily around me as i skimmed through photos and descriptions of new york apartments only barely in my price range. i tipped as though two people had eaten, and weaved through the crowd of smokers outside, to my waiting car. i thought about the number of blocks from the restaurant to my door, about the number of taxis almost always present outside on weekend nights. it was not so different from a manhattan neighborhood, and yet, a world away.
on sunday afternoon, i received a phone call from my grandmother. i figured, with facebook's axis of influence, that she would hear from someone (in my family) that i was selling my furniture and moving to new york. her voice raised in pitch as she questioned me gently, and i reassured her that i haven't made a decision yet, but that i am considering it. it's difficult for her to let go. it's difficult for me, too. she's getting older, and i hate to think that i'm missing any time with her that i won't be able to make up. then again, she has always been a big proponent of my dreams. she supported me as a poet and a musician, and applauded me when i finally found my heart in childcare. she believes in me, as a photographer, and prays for me daily. most important, she understands that i'm quite a bit different than the rest of my family. i only hope that those differences make me stronger, more able to handle life so far away from so much that i know and love.
saturday night, i saw the same band again, at a community arts theater. i caught maybe ten minutes of the show, due to leaving work late. in the rush to arrive, i forgot i'd need dinner. i should have known it was coming -- my bravery and logic make a great team. one of my regular haunts would definitely be open late and serving great food. i already seen a movie alone, gone to a bar alone, and attended a show alone. why not visit a favorite restaurant? sitting at the four-top booth, i ordered my dinner and whipped out my netbook. the other patrons chatted happily around me as i skimmed through photos and descriptions of new york apartments only barely in my price range. i tipped as though two people had eaten, and weaved through the crowd of smokers outside, to my waiting car. i thought about the number of blocks from the restaurant to my door, about the number of taxis almost always present outside on weekend nights. it was not so different from a manhattan neighborhood, and yet, a world away.
on sunday afternoon, i received a phone call from my grandmother. i figured, with facebook's axis of influence, that she would hear from someone (in my family) that i was selling my furniture and moving to new york. her voice raised in pitch as she questioned me gently, and i reassured her that i haven't made a decision yet, but that i am considering it. it's difficult for her to let go. it's difficult for me, too. she's getting older, and i hate to think that i'm missing any time with her that i won't be able to make up. then again, she has always been a big proponent of my dreams. she supported me as a poet and a musician, and applauded me when i finally found my heart in childcare. she believes in me, as a photographer, and prays for me daily. most important, she understands that i'm quite a bit different than the rest of my family. i only hope that those differences make me stronger, more able to handle life so far away from so much that i know and love.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
just like the movies
my current city, winston-salem, is a city of the arts. along the main drag in downtown, there are many bars and restaurants. there are also galleries, artist's lofts, and an art-house theater that shows lots of independent flicks. since i'd already eaten away at much of this month's plan to list/sell furniture, i decided to make my first visit to a/perture. first, i put feelers out on facebook, to see if anyone wanted to attend a movie with me. my only response was from a friend of a friend, three hours away. i realized that this, in and of itself, is what i can expect to encounter a lot when i move -- friends who only wish they could spend time with me. i decided to do something else that i expect will become normal for me, and go alone. i don't need to wait on the world to catch up, in order to do something i want to do.
if the neighborhood weren't ever-so-slightly unsafe, and the streets weren't hilly enough to leave me out of breath, i would have walked to the theater. if there had been a place to chain it, and if ice weren't on the road from the previous weekend's storm, i would have biked. these things didn't stop me from going out in new york, from walking the streets and stepping in the slush, from braving the bitter north winter winds. they are enough, here, to force me into a car to make a fifteen block trip, pay for parking in a garage, and run (not walk) around the corner to quickly get out of the cold. in new york, i am strong and brave, if a little reckless. in north carolina, i am obviously not.
i am, however, brave enough to go to a movie alone. i purchased a tiny one-person bag of popcorn, paid for my own ticket, and sat by myself. i lost myself in the world of the moving picture, and i enjoyed it. i didn't sit through the credits, as i have so many times with other people, because i dislike sitting through the credits. when the lights came up, i was already out the door, heading back to my car, playing the movie over in my head. i've been to the movies alone very few times in my life. i can count them on one hand, and probably name the movies. the only part i dislike about it is not having anyone with which to discuss the movie after the fact. my sense of accomplishment, of being able to go out alone, was galvanizing. there is always something to do in new york, at almost any hour of the day or night. there is always a way to get there, whether it's bus, subway, taxi, bike, or on foot. i don't anticipate not making any friends, but even if it's slow going, i should be able to appreciate at least this one activity alone.
if the neighborhood weren't ever-so-slightly unsafe, and the streets weren't hilly enough to leave me out of breath, i would have walked to the theater. if there had been a place to chain it, and if ice weren't on the road from the previous weekend's storm, i would have biked. these things didn't stop me from going out in new york, from walking the streets and stepping in the slush, from braving the bitter north winter winds. they are enough, here, to force me into a car to make a fifteen block trip, pay for parking in a garage, and run (not walk) around the corner to quickly get out of the cold. in new york, i am strong and brave, if a little reckless. in north carolina, i am obviously not.
i am, however, brave enough to go to a movie alone. i purchased a tiny one-person bag of popcorn, paid for my own ticket, and sat by myself. i lost myself in the world of the moving picture, and i enjoyed it. i didn't sit through the credits, as i have so many times with other people, because i dislike sitting through the credits. when the lights came up, i was already out the door, heading back to my car, playing the movie over in my head. i've been to the movies alone very few times in my life. i can count them on one hand, and probably name the movies. the only part i dislike about it is not having anyone with which to discuss the movie after the fact. my sense of accomplishment, of being able to go out alone, was galvanizing. there is always something to do in new york, at almost any hour of the day or night. there is always a way to get there, whether it's bus, subway, taxi, bike, or on foot. i don't anticipate not making any friends, but even if it's slow going, i should be able to appreciate at least this one activity alone.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
catching up to current
i've spent the past few days reliving all of my new york experiences, and posting postdated blogs about my feelings. i've revealed more about myself, to myself, than to anyone who might be reading. i've written things down that i didn't even realize i was feeling. i've cried, i've laughed, i've looked at photos and mementos. now it's time to begin the business of moving a life.
i've made a total of 5 major moves since age 18, not counting moving into and out of college dorms (which would add 4 to the total number). each move has been into a progressively bigger space, save this last one. each journey has been made with more and more possessions to fill the spaces, in a fit to find fulfillment in things. each uprooting has been accompanied by the best of friends who were willing to haul my stash, clean my cabinets, and throw me welcoming parties. i owe it to them to make this move alone. they're carried me for long enough. one set of words has haunted me: sell everything you own, to pay your way. it was a plan in the making, before i'd ever made a decision.
i never expected, when i listed several pieces of furniture for sale, that one person would come and buy most of it, all at once. gone are the vestiges of my comfortable, possession-choked life: the red couch, the monstrous entertainment center, the cheap desk, the fancy ottoman. she wants my decorative items, as well, and i'll be happy to oblige. left are only the pieces that i need to live between now and the summer -- a futon-like loveseat, several sets of foldable bookshelves, a low-slung entertainment center and television (both will eventually be sold), a full-size mattress set (will be given away). if it cannot fit in my car, it must stay behind. of course, if i sell my car and rent a minivan for the drive, i will be able to carry more, but they must be pieces i can carry myself. these are the things one considers when moving hundreds of miles away.
my plan consists of this:
in january, i will focus on furniture. this means taking inventory, listing any remaining items for sale, and acquiring replacements for required pieces that will travel well. again, i never thought i'd sell things so quickly, but this has left me time to conduct a few social experiments.
in february, i'll streamline my closet. i can't count on having a closet in new york, so this will be a big deal. clothing must multitask. layering is essential. all shoes that are only stylish, and not functional, must go. i've considered having a party at the end of the month, to sell any clothes, shoes, and handbags that don't make the cut.
in march, i'll destash my decoratives. there are a LOT of them, and in varied styles. some were made to fit stylistically in the 1870s house i rented last year, some for the mid-century house before that, some for my very first solo abode, and some still linger from my college days. there are also a lot of framed portraits of friends and family, which are especially dear because i photographed them.
in april, the technology and entertainment need to be condensed. books i didn't love will go back to the thrift store. any music i can muster will be digitized and backed up. my game system and all its peripherals are already listed for sale, but as a last resort, i'll put them up for online auction. both of my televisions are out of date, heavy boxes that likely won't travel with me. tv on dvd needs to stay -- it's my boredom savior.
in may, the last month of my lease in the loft, i will sell things directly related to being a nanny. when i was caring for my friend's young one on a daily basis, i acquired a lot of "things". now i've learned that most kids require very little, beyond love, attention, and enrichment, to be happy little people. i'm continuing to develop my childcare philosophies, and be able to explain them. plus, i won't be able to move, nor will i need, many of the things i've acquired.
may 31st approaches all too soon. and from there, who knows?
i've made a total of 5 major moves since age 18, not counting moving into and out of college dorms (which would add 4 to the total number). each move has been into a progressively bigger space, save this last one. each journey has been made with more and more possessions to fill the spaces, in a fit to find fulfillment in things. each uprooting has been accompanied by the best of friends who were willing to haul my stash, clean my cabinets, and throw me welcoming parties. i owe it to them to make this move alone. they're carried me for long enough. one set of words has haunted me: sell everything you own, to pay your way. it was a plan in the making, before i'd ever made a decision.
i never expected, when i listed several pieces of furniture for sale, that one person would come and buy most of it, all at once. gone are the vestiges of my comfortable, possession-choked life: the red couch, the monstrous entertainment center, the cheap desk, the fancy ottoman. she wants my decorative items, as well, and i'll be happy to oblige. left are only the pieces that i need to live between now and the summer -- a futon-like loveseat, several sets of foldable bookshelves, a low-slung entertainment center and television (both will eventually be sold), a full-size mattress set (will be given away). if it cannot fit in my car, it must stay behind. of course, if i sell my car and rent a minivan for the drive, i will be able to carry more, but they must be pieces i can carry myself. these are the things one considers when moving hundreds of miles away.
my plan consists of this:
in january, i will focus on furniture. this means taking inventory, listing any remaining items for sale, and acquiring replacements for required pieces that will travel well. again, i never thought i'd sell things so quickly, but this has left me time to conduct a few social experiments.
in february, i'll streamline my closet. i can't count on having a closet in new york, so this will be a big deal. clothing must multitask. layering is essential. all shoes that are only stylish, and not functional, must go. i've considered having a party at the end of the month, to sell any clothes, shoes, and handbags that don't make the cut.
in march, i'll destash my decoratives. there are a LOT of them, and in varied styles. some were made to fit stylistically in the 1870s house i rented last year, some for the mid-century house before that, some for my very first solo abode, and some still linger from my college days. there are also a lot of framed portraits of friends and family, which are especially dear because i photographed them.
in april, the technology and entertainment need to be condensed. books i didn't love will go back to the thrift store. any music i can muster will be digitized and backed up. my game system and all its peripherals are already listed for sale, but as a last resort, i'll put them up for online auction. both of my televisions are out of date, heavy boxes that likely won't travel with me. tv on dvd needs to stay -- it's my boredom savior.
in may, the last month of my lease in the loft, i will sell things directly related to being a nanny. when i was caring for my friend's young one on a daily basis, i acquired a lot of "things". now i've learned that most kids require very little, beyond love, attention, and enrichment, to be happy little people. i'm continuing to develop my childcare philosophies, and be able to explain them. plus, i won't be able to move, nor will i need, many of the things i've acquired.
may 31st approaches all too soon. and from there, who knows?
Thursday, January 6, 2011
the announcement and aftermath
2011 had entered with quiet grace, pushing me down a runway and into the clouds. more than the plane hung in the balance between sky and sea. for the first time, looking out the oval window of the aircraft, i saw my city from above. i saw it for its flaws and faults, for its snow-covered messy streets and whipping winds, for its ability to take in a refugee and spit out a survivor. i smiled to myself as the people across the aisle craned their necks to see the view out of the windows on my side. it was a new year, full of opportunities. perhaps it was a new york year.
when i returned to my loft, baggage in hand, art stared back at me. my walls were now covered with the products of my birthday party, when i'd had my friends over to paint canvases and decorate cupcakes. each had their personal impression, their interpretation of what would please me, their answer to the unspoken question of "what do you want me to create for you?". one canvas stood in the middle of them, one i'd painted when i first moved into "my new york in north carolina" some nine months earlier. it read from top to bottom:
i gazed around at my ill-matching red couch, the imposing entertainment center stacked high with books i'd read but not loved, the piles of clothes that fit neither my current style nor my body, and the bed i'd never been able to move into the windowless bedroom. i'd needed the light from the windows. i'd needed the airy space of the main room. i suddenly felt stifled by it all. with manhattan looking on, i tried to make myself at home, but everything felt ill-fitting. of my possessions, there was nothing left to hold on to, nothing left to lose that actually held real value. photographs of my friends loomed out from their various frames, their children's faces smiling. the possessions could be sold. the family i'd made, however, would be more difficult to separate from myself.
my first few days back at work were a blur of my ordinary motions. anyone could do this, i thought, as i picked up my nanny charge from preschool. anyone could do anything, and i could do this. i could move from this place. i could leave this life. it rang in the back of my mind. for two days, i went about my usual business. on the third, while a sweet toddler napped in the next room, i posted the status on facebook, step zero in my campaign:
"it's january 6th, 2011. do i have the guts to pick up and move to nyc in six months? do i have the determination and ingenuity to pare down my life so i can move anywhere using only my car, even if it's not nyc?"
the response was immediate and overwhelming, as was the range of emotions. of course, no one wants to lose me, but many are happy to see me follow through with something i've only talked about for four years. the most gut-wrenching reaction belongs to my best friend and his wife, who can barely bear to hear me mention it, whose son feels (in part) like my own. it was his seven month old, smiling face that greeted me at the airport. the cost of a round-trip train ticket from new york to north carolina and back is around $200. i can't help but wonder the cost of leaving.
when i returned to my loft, baggage in hand, art stared back at me. my walls were now covered with the products of my birthday party, when i'd had my friends over to paint canvases and decorate cupcakes. each had their personal impression, their interpretation of what would please me, their answer to the unspoken question of "what do you want me to create for you?". one canvas stood in the middle of them, one i'd painted when i first moved into "my new york in north carolina" some nine months earlier. it read from top to bottom:
M A N
H A T
T A N
i gazed around at my ill-matching red couch, the imposing entertainment center stacked high with books i'd read but not loved, the piles of clothes that fit neither my current style nor my body, and the bed i'd never been able to move into the windowless bedroom. i'd needed the light from the windows. i'd needed the airy space of the main room. i suddenly felt stifled by it all. with manhattan looking on, i tried to make myself at home, but everything felt ill-fitting. of my possessions, there was nothing left to hold on to, nothing left to lose that actually held real value. photographs of my friends loomed out from their various frames, their children's faces smiling. the possessions could be sold. the family i'd made, however, would be more difficult to separate from myself.
my first few days back at work were a blur of my ordinary motions. anyone could do this, i thought, as i picked up my nanny charge from preschool. anyone could do anything, and i could do this. i could move from this place. i could leave this life. it rang in the back of my mind. for two days, i went about my usual business. on the third, while a sweet toddler napped in the next room, i posted the status on facebook, step zero in my campaign:
"it's january 6th, 2011. do i have the guts to pick up and move to nyc in six months? do i have the determination and ingenuity to pare down my life so i can move anywhere using only my car, even if it's not nyc?"
the response was immediate and overwhelming, as was the range of emotions. of course, no one wants to lose me, but many are happy to see me follow through with something i've only talked about for four years. the most gut-wrenching reaction belongs to my best friend and his wife, who can barely bear to hear me mention it, whose son feels (in part) like my own. it was his seven month old, smiling face that greeted me at the airport. the cost of a round-trip train ticket from new york to north carolina and back is around $200. i can't help but wonder the cost of leaving.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
downhill and the way back up
this is the part where things get a little fuzzy, when life swept in to knock me off of my feet. it would be over a year (from july 2008 to july 2009) before i returned to new york. in november '08, only three weeks after quitting my day job, i started two new jobs -- one as a nanny, and one as a photographer. by february, my nanny clients moved out of the country, and my photographer position was simply seasonal. i posted an inquiry on craigslist and shortly secured another nanny position. in the meantime, i'd decided to throw myself whole-heartedly into my own photography business, and broke my lease on a great small house to move to a much larger, more expensive one on a commercial street. i'm not saying i entirely deserved every bit of bad that ran my way after that, but i will say that it's never a good idea to break a lease (unnecessarily), get a credit card (when you have no previous debt), and move (to a large, expensive live/work spot) in order to start a small business. it ended like many best-laid plans -- almost entirely laid to waste, and i with them.
the little boy whose nanny i'd become in march '09 was a soothing balm. my work wasn't easy, by any means, but it provided a necessarily fulfillment while the rest of my life crumbled around me. in july, his family was traveling by car to westchester county, ny, and asked me to ride along to keep him entertained. they knew i had friends in new jersey, and were more than happy to drop me off to spend the week until they needed me for the drive back to north carolina. again, new york renewed me, but this time, it took a bit longer than usual. my first few days were filled with stress and sleeping. i wandered around in a haze until at least the third day. my camera was ever-present, and i'd recently acquired a new lens (50mm 1.8), with which i captured the city in bits and bites. i ambled through the met, not once, but twice. i ate alone, long and luxurious meals that mildly annoyed the waitstaff. i got lost crossing central park. i rode the staten island ferry on its deck, hair blowing wildly, wanting to scream but holding it in. i dallied and lagged, stretching every single day into oblivion. i had no desire to return to north carolina and face the life i'd made.
i did return, though. every day felt the same, and though my situation needed a huge change, i had no energy to propel it. i have a history of making what appear to be snap decisions on some of the most important choices in my life. truth be told, i am very internal (part of why i struggle to write now). i think far too much for my own good, about every possible outcome. i rarely act without thoroughly examining, though sometimes circumstances allow me to make a decision sooner than i'd planned. my motto in latter years has become, "distance equals self-control." it was that distance, from the house i felt trapped in, from the friends i couldn't relate to, and even from my on-again off-again beau, that finally allowed me to see clearly. november '09 was one breaking point, and with it came the tearful ability to make a decision i'd been incapable of making previously. with that, the freedom to move on. i was determined, after my previous experience, not to violate the terms of my lease, but i began apartment-hunting in the new year. i found a beautiful loft that could function as a live-work space for photography, seven blocks from my nanny job. my best friend J christened it perfectly: "my new york in north carolina." crawling out of the deep, dark hole i'd dug was emotionally exhausting and ultimately, would become the most intimately revealing thing i've done to this point in my life.
a change of scenery wasn't my only need. i nixed all of my unhealthy relationships, and began to work on myself, peeling away the layers to discover what i am and am not. i also set about trying to correct some of the missteps i'd taken in the past two years, financially. with the weight lifted, i began to feel like an artist again. when my passion for art surged, in the past, i had felt my passion for everything else wane. the birth of my best friend's child in may '10 changed that. i spent over twenty four hours in the hospital with them, on the day leading up to his birth. camera in hand, i was able to mix my art, my love for my friends, and my love for children. suddenly, it didn't feel like a burden or a sacrifice -- it felt like exactly where i was supposed to be, at exactly the right time. suddenly, i was a thousand pieces defined, a whole human being. i could be an artist, and a care provider. i needed both, simultaneously, to feel complete. my worldview, my passions, my beliefs were all coming together into one great symphony, and i was finally in conducting it. add one tiny, fussing baby and two bewildered parents in want of any kind of guidance (mine included), and i felt in control of the world.
summer faded into fall, and into the coldest winter north carolina's seen since i was a child. new york was in the back of my mind, as always, but i knew a trip wasn't possible while trying to pay down my debts. i spent lots of time doing low-cost activities, like listening to bad karaoke with good people. my friend C joined me for one of these sessions, and we talked about the future and what it might hold, for both of us. he was considering heading back to japan; i, of course, spoke of new york, of my love for the city and a change of address that would likely never happen. a hundred questions and a hundred bad excuses later, he told me that if i really wanted to do it, then to do whatever it takes. sell everything you own. leave what you've come to call your life behind, and make a new one. if it will fulfill you, if it means this much, then just GO. this friend is not a dreamer, but a do-er, and was also pushing himself as much as he was pushing me. he'd also grown to know me well, and knew i was outgrowing my place. i left with no more reasons holding me back. i wanted new york, its culture, its inspiration; i wanted the me who i'd become as soon as i stepped out onto those city streets -- smart, self-sufficient, and satisfied. would i leave behind my family, my few friends, to pursue the life new york could offer?
the day before my 26th birthday, my employer surprised me with a proposal -- they were traveling up to westchester for christmas, and offered to pay my round-trip airfare if i'd fly up to keep the little one for a few days. in less than ten minutes, my flights were booked for a trip that would extend through the new year. christmas-time with my family was wonderful, but north carolina was promised a white christmas which held the potential to trap me in my hometown. meanwhile, a blizzard hit new york that closed the airports and shut down the city. we were all worried that i wouldn't be able to fly out, but the airports reopened just in time to make my mid-week flight. my two days alone with the kiddo, including our first overnights together, were relaxed and easy. when our time was over, i took the train from ossining to grand central. i dragged myself and my luggage through the remnants of heavy snow, through times square to port authority, where i boarded a bus and headed for a familiar couch. i was a new york girl again. this time, i was also a whole person, confident and collected. i no longer needed the city to complete me. instead, i could come with open arms, embrace it, and add to it. when the time came to board the return flight, i wondered if i would return to my new york as a visitor or a resident. my answer wasn't as far away as i'd imagined.
the little boy whose nanny i'd become in march '09 was a soothing balm. my work wasn't easy, by any means, but it provided a necessarily fulfillment while the rest of my life crumbled around me. in july, his family was traveling by car to westchester county, ny, and asked me to ride along to keep him entertained. they knew i had friends in new jersey, and were more than happy to drop me off to spend the week until they needed me for the drive back to north carolina. again, new york renewed me, but this time, it took a bit longer than usual. my first few days were filled with stress and sleeping. i wandered around in a haze until at least the third day. my camera was ever-present, and i'd recently acquired a new lens (50mm 1.8), with which i captured the city in bits and bites. i ambled through the met, not once, but twice. i ate alone, long and luxurious meals that mildly annoyed the waitstaff. i got lost crossing central park. i rode the staten island ferry on its deck, hair blowing wildly, wanting to scream but holding it in. i dallied and lagged, stretching every single day into oblivion. i had no desire to return to north carolina and face the life i'd made.
i did return, though. every day felt the same, and though my situation needed a huge change, i had no energy to propel it. i have a history of making what appear to be snap decisions on some of the most important choices in my life. truth be told, i am very internal (part of why i struggle to write now). i think far too much for my own good, about every possible outcome. i rarely act without thoroughly examining, though sometimes circumstances allow me to make a decision sooner than i'd planned. my motto in latter years has become, "distance equals self-control." it was that distance, from the house i felt trapped in, from the friends i couldn't relate to, and even from my on-again off-again beau, that finally allowed me to see clearly. november '09 was one breaking point, and with it came the tearful ability to make a decision i'd been incapable of making previously. with that, the freedom to move on. i was determined, after my previous experience, not to violate the terms of my lease, but i began apartment-hunting in the new year. i found a beautiful loft that could function as a live-work space for photography, seven blocks from my nanny job. my best friend J christened it perfectly: "my new york in north carolina." crawling out of the deep, dark hole i'd dug was emotionally exhausting and ultimately, would become the most intimately revealing thing i've done to this point in my life.
a change of scenery wasn't my only need. i nixed all of my unhealthy relationships, and began to work on myself, peeling away the layers to discover what i am and am not. i also set about trying to correct some of the missteps i'd taken in the past two years, financially. with the weight lifted, i began to feel like an artist again. when my passion for art surged, in the past, i had felt my passion for everything else wane. the birth of my best friend's child in may '10 changed that. i spent over twenty four hours in the hospital with them, on the day leading up to his birth. camera in hand, i was able to mix my art, my love for my friends, and my love for children. suddenly, it didn't feel like a burden or a sacrifice -- it felt like exactly where i was supposed to be, at exactly the right time. suddenly, i was a thousand pieces defined, a whole human being. i could be an artist, and a care provider. i needed both, simultaneously, to feel complete. my worldview, my passions, my beliefs were all coming together into one great symphony, and i was finally in conducting it. add one tiny, fussing baby and two bewildered parents in want of any kind of guidance (mine included), and i felt in control of the world.
summer faded into fall, and into the coldest winter north carolina's seen since i was a child. new york was in the back of my mind, as always, but i knew a trip wasn't possible while trying to pay down my debts. i spent lots of time doing low-cost activities, like listening to bad karaoke with good people. my friend C joined me for one of these sessions, and we talked about the future and what it might hold, for both of us. he was considering heading back to japan; i, of course, spoke of new york, of my love for the city and a change of address that would likely never happen. a hundred questions and a hundred bad excuses later, he told me that if i really wanted to do it, then to do whatever it takes. sell everything you own. leave what you've come to call your life behind, and make a new one. if it will fulfill you, if it means this much, then just GO. this friend is not a dreamer, but a do-er, and was also pushing himself as much as he was pushing me. he'd also grown to know me well, and knew i was outgrowing my place. i left with no more reasons holding me back. i wanted new york, its culture, its inspiration; i wanted the me who i'd become as soon as i stepped out onto those city streets -- smart, self-sufficient, and satisfied. would i leave behind my family, my few friends, to pursue the life new york could offer?
the day before my 26th birthday, my employer surprised me with a proposal -- they were traveling up to westchester for christmas, and offered to pay my round-trip airfare if i'd fly up to keep the little one for a few days. in less than ten minutes, my flights were booked for a trip that would extend through the new year. christmas-time with my family was wonderful, but north carolina was promised a white christmas which held the potential to trap me in my hometown. meanwhile, a blizzard hit new york that closed the airports and shut down the city. we were all worried that i wouldn't be able to fly out, but the airports reopened just in time to make my mid-week flight. my two days alone with the kiddo, including our first overnights together, were relaxed and easy. when our time was over, i took the train from ossining to grand central. i dragged myself and my luggage through the remnants of heavy snow, through times square to port authority, where i boarded a bus and headed for a familiar couch. i was a new york girl again. this time, i was also a whole person, confident and collected. i no longer needed the city to complete me. instead, i could come with open arms, embrace it, and add to it. when the time came to board the return flight, i wondered if i would return to my new york as a visitor or a resident. my answer wasn't as far away as i'd imagined.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
a double triptych of trips
it is so difficult to condense and be concise with my thoughts, especially since this is a retrospective. i'm four years removed from my first new york minute, and the details still burn bright in my mind. i am a recorder, a maker of photographs for memories, but i need very few to remember each of the six visits i've made to new york. my life has changed so drastically here in north carolina since that first fumbling trip. my hair is a foot shorter, and when i look in the mirror, i can see myself and know i'm figuring it all out. i'm finding, no, making a place for myself in the world. putting that into words has been a struggle.
new york isn't magical to me. it isn't all romance and movie scenes. it's real, and i respect the city, its grit and grandeur. my family, for the most part, doesn't understand my predilection. they're the type of folks who have spent most of their life living in the same small towns in sleepy eastern north carolina, which is perfectly respectable. sure, some of them travel -- some even more extensively than me (which isn't difficult, when you haven't left the east coast) and to more exotic locales. when part of my extended family wanted to visit new york a mere eight months after my first enchanting trip, i couldn't pass up the opportunity to play tour guide to my favorite city. it was at this time i attended my first new york museum, the guggenheim, and started to understand that new york was more than simply manhattan. i took my first cruise down the hudson, saw the island from afar, and realized there was so much of it i'd never experienced (including the other four boroughs). my perspective widened and my curiosity heightened.
after shuffling through new york with two very different groups of people on two very different trips, i was ready to have the city to myself for once. in spring 2008, i spent a week couch-crashing in jersey for a much-needed holiday. on my very first night, i was privy to a dichotomy of northern real estate. my friend A lives in a 3 bedroom luxury apartment in union city. he shares it with two roommates, and all three commute at least an hour a day to and from manhattan for work. another friend and his wife rent a tiny junior one-bedroom in greenwich village, where my knees touched the door while sitting on the toilet, and the shower was in the kitchen beside the sink, but it was only steps away from a thousand different activities at any hour of the day or night. the greenwich apartment was more expensive, and you had to climb five skinny flights of stairs to reach it.
it reminded me that there is a price for everything, including the two years i've worked in a soul-sucking office job. i thought my reasoning was fairly simple -- make enough money so that i don't have to worry so much anymore. the cost has been high, though. there was no art in my life, no mental energy left after a nine to five day doing something which has so little meaning to me. i'd stopped making music. i'd stopped writing and painting.
new york began to open itself to me during this visit, unfolding its streets and folding me in. i began to be able to navigate on my own, and spent entire days in the city with little guidance, moving easily between neighborhoods. i visited museums, relaxed in parks, ate amazing food. i remembered what it felt like to be human, to appreciate creation, and to create for myself (via photography, my not-so-new hobby, err, obsession). the solitude was therapeutic in a way i could neither deny nor entirely comprehend. new york was capturing me, one block at a time.
my next visit was a short three months later, in late summer. another group trip. music kept me coming to the city (this was our second music-related trip -- this time, we went to see les paul play). this quote from my july 30th, 2008, journal entry is fairly telling:
"back from new york. not thrilled to be, but oh well. back to the daily grind at the job i pretty much hate. this trip was okay. not my best ever, but still pretty fun... of course, i'm a little sad to be back here [nc], working and not playing. i always enjoy my times in ny/nj, and with A, and with my friends. it was a good vacation, probably the last one i'll have in a while. i am really looking forward to some interviews i may have this week, and working with my new photographer friend mac, and moving on with my life. who knows when my next new york adventure will be, or under what circumstances. i'll be waiting though. i miss my skyline."
in two months, i would quit my office job. with no back-up plan and no well-paying prospects in sight, i immediately delved back into the one uncomplicated part of my life -- caring for children. i forgotten how much i loved it, how simple and satisfying it could be. i also started to push myself with photography, to learn the camera and how to make it capture my worldview. i did another informative (but slightly soul-sucking) short stint in a job i didn't love, as a mall studio photographer. i also started to call myself what i'd become -- a nanny. at this point, my brain rationalized that childcare was a means to an end, a way to make the money i needed to support the artist i was once again becoming. i thought i would eventually need to choose between them, to be either a nanny or an artist. i couldn't fathom how much the two would inform one another and pave a path towards my future.
new york isn't magical to me. it isn't all romance and movie scenes. it's real, and i respect the city, its grit and grandeur. my family, for the most part, doesn't understand my predilection. they're the type of folks who have spent most of their life living in the same small towns in sleepy eastern north carolina, which is perfectly respectable. sure, some of them travel -- some even more extensively than me (which isn't difficult, when you haven't left the east coast) and to more exotic locales. when part of my extended family wanted to visit new york a mere eight months after my first enchanting trip, i couldn't pass up the opportunity to play tour guide to my favorite city. it was at this time i attended my first new york museum, the guggenheim, and started to understand that new york was more than simply manhattan. i took my first cruise down the hudson, saw the island from afar, and realized there was so much of it i'd never experienced (including the other four boroughs). my perspective widened and my curiosity heightened.
after shuffling through new york with two very different groups of people on two very different trips, i was ready to have the city to myself for once. in spring 2008, i spent a week couch-crashing in jersey for a much-needed holiday. on my very first night, i was privy to a dichotomy of northern real estate. my friend A lives in a 3 bedroom luxury apartment in union city. he shares it with two roommates, and all three commute at least an hour a day to and from manhattan for work. another friend and his wife rent a tiny junior one-bedroom in greenwich village, where my knees touched the door while sitting on the toilet, and the shower was in the kitchen beside the sink, but it was only steps away from a thousand different activities at any hour of the day or night. the greenwich apartment was more expensive, and you had to climb five skinny flights of stairs to reach it.
it reminded me that there is a price for everything, including the two years i've worked in a soul-sucking office job. i thought my reasoning was fairly simple -- make enough money so that i don't have to worry so much anymore. the cost has been high, though. there was no art in my life, no mental energy left after a nine to five day doing something which has so little meaning to me. i'd stopped making music. i'd stopped writing and painting.
new york began to open itself to me during this visit, unfolding its streets and folding me in. i began to be able to navigate on my own, and spent entire days in the city with little guidance, moving easily between neighborhoods. i visited museums, relaxed in parks, ate amazing food. i remembered what it felt like to be human, to appreciate creation, and to create for myself (via photography, my not-so-new hobby, err, obsession). the solitude was therapeutic in a way i could neither deny nor entirely comprehend. new york was capturing me, one block at a time.
my next visit was a short three months later, in late summer. another group trip. music kept me coming to the city (this was our second music-related trip -- this time, we went to see les paul play). this quote from my july 30th, 2008, journal entry is fairly telling:
"back from new york. not thrilled to be, but oh well. back to the daily grind at the job i pretty much hate. this trip was okay. not my best ever, but still pretty fun... of course, i'm a little sad to be back here [nc], working and not playing. i always enjoy my times in ny/nj, and with A, and with my friends. it was a good vacation, probably the last one i'll have in a while. i am really looking forward to some interviews i may have this week, and working with my new photographer friend mac, and moving on with my life. who knows when my next new york adventure will be, or under what circumstances. i'll be waiting though. i miss my skyline."
in two months, i would quit my office job. with no back-up plan and no well-paying prospects in sight, i immediately delved back into the one uncomplicated part of my life -- caring for children. i forgotten how much i loved it, how simple and satisfying it could be. i also started to push myself with photography, to learn the camera and how to make it capture my worldview. i did another informative (but slightly soul-sucking) short stint in a job i didn't love, as a mall studio photographer. i also started to call myself what i'd become -- a nanny. at this point, my brain rationalized that childcare was a means to an end, a way to make the money i needed to support the artist i was once again becoming. i thought i would eventually need to choose between them, to be either a nanny or an artist. i couldn't fathom how much the two would inform one another and pave a path towards my future.
Monday, January 3, 2011
skylines, sidewalks, and subways
it's 2011. my name is liz. i'm twenty six years old, and i'm moving to new york city this year (at least, that's the plan). speaking of, i don't plan to be brilliant at this blog-writing venture. mostly i just need a way to get my feelings out, to document my journey in a way i'll be able to easily search later. since this is my first post in a new journal, i think i'd like to talk about firsts.
in my adolescence, i was a small-town girl with an affinity for skylines. standing in the footprint of a skyscrapers in medium-sized southern cities, i felt small and insignificant -- not a part of, but apart from the world. as i struggled to find my place, cities made frequent appearances in the poetry and lyrics i wrote. i met a boy during college who took me walking downtown and made me fall in love with it (and him). something about the tall buildings and winds whipping soothed us both, gave us a place that we made our own. we often sought solace in these downtown walks, and dreamed of visiting new york together (why there, i can't recall). we eventually fell apart, hard, and our somewhat childish dream was too painful for me to consider alone. months passed, and unexpected motivation came in a passing conversation -- a one-shot deal for a weekend trip. before the day was over, tickets were purchased, friends who lived close offered accommodations, and plans were made. we would fly out in less than two weeks.
here's an excerpt from a journal i wrote on the day we booked our flight:
"you know, for a while, i thought my enthusiasm for new york had faded. it was a plan i'd made with someone i'd held very dear, someone i've since lost, maybe irreparably. it's something i sincerely wanted to share with someone i love, and the loss of that had kind of dashed my hopes against this huge rock wall. now, though, with new york steadily looming on the horizon, i've come to realize this: the excitement i had for going to new york never really left."
i'm always on the wrong side of the airplane, the side that gets clouds and colored sky when we bank for a turn. we flew in near nightfall, so my unfortunate luck meant missing the new york skyline in all its glory. then came changing into warmer clothes in a stainless-steel airport bathroom, and a hurried car ride from newark to hoboken. at the time, i didn't even realize that hoboken was NOT new york. i just knew we were heading for the city. oh, how naive that sounds, in retrospect.
i first entered new york via PATH from hoboken on january 26th, 2007, three amazing friends at my side. i already had a giant maddening crush on the idea of new york, but the proximity was even more intoxicating. i fell head-over-heels for every tiny detail -- the rush of force when the light rail train pushed into the station, the crush of people heading up the stairs for a night in the city. emerging onto the sidewalk, i had no clue where i was going and nothing was familiar, and i loved it. i slipped my arm into the arm of a friend i knew so well (and so little) and stepped out into the streets with tiny bits of confidence i didn't know i possessed. i breathed in the biting air, and new york raced into me. it hasn't since left.
this first new york was, in my eyes, small. i didn't have the whole picture, didn't understand the concept, couldn't grasp the enormity of the city. it dissolved into moments for me, moments that i can only now go back and analyze with clarity (knowing now that we were near rockefeller center, or in the village). i had no idea that i was standing on an island with millions of other people. i had no clue how to navigate, a flailing baby bird in the nest. luckily, no one was pushing me out of it -- that, i would have to do myself.
in my adolescence, i was a small-town girl with an affinity for skylines. standing in the footprint of a skyscrapers in medium-sized southern cities, i felt small and insignificant -- not a part of, but apart from the world. as i struggled to find my place, cities made frequent appearances in the poetry and lyrics i wrote. i met a boy during college who took me walking downtown and made me fall in love with it (and him). something about the tall buildings and winds whipping soothed us both, gave us a place that we made our own. we often sought solace in these downtown walks, and dreamed of visiting new york together (why there, i can't recall). we eventually fell apart, hard, and our somewhat childish dream was too painful for me to consider alone. months passed, and unexpected motivation came in a passing conversation -- a one-shot deal for a weekend trip. before the day was over, tickets were purchased, friends who lived close offered accommodations, and plans were made. we would fly out in less than two weeks.
here's an excerpt from a journal i wrote on the day we booked our flight:
"you know, for a while, i thought my enthusiasm for new york had faded. it was a plan i'd made with someone i'd held very dear, someone i've since lost, maybe irreparably. it's something i sincerely wanted to share with someone i love, and the loss of that had kind of dashed my hopes against this huge rock wall. now, though, with new york steadily looming on the horizon, i've come to realize this: the excitement i had for going to new york never really left."
i'm always on the wrong side of the airplane, the side that gets clouds and colored sky when we bank for a turn. we flew in near nightfall, so my unfortunate luck meant missing the new york skyline in all its glory. then came changing into warmer clothes in a stainless-steel airport bathroom, and a hurried car ride from newark to hoboken. at the time, i didn't even realize that hoboken was NOT new york. i just knew we were heading for the city. oh, how naive that sounds, in retrospect.
i first entered new york via PATH from hoboken on january 26th, 2007, three amazing friends at my side. i already had a giant maddening crush on the idea of new york, but the proximity was even more intoxicating. i fell head-over-heels for every tiny detail -- the rush of force when the light rail train pushed into the station, the crush of people heading up the stairs for a night in the city. emerging onto the sidewalk, i had no clue where i was going and nothing was familiar, and i loved it. i slipped my arm into the arm of a friend i knew so well (and so little) and stepped out into the streets with tiny bits of confidence i didn't know i possessed. i breathed in the biting air, and new york raced into me. it hasn't since left.
this first new york was, in my eyes, small. i didn't have the whole picture, didn't understand the concept, couldn't grasp the enormity of the city. it dissolved into moments for me, moments that i can only now go back and analyze with clarity (knowing now that we were near rockefeller center, or in the village). i had no idea that i was standing on an island with millions of other people. i had no clue how to navigate, a flailing baby bird in the nest. luckily, no one was pushing me out of it -- that, i would have to do myself.
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