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?
Showing posts with label postdated. Show all posts
Showing posts with label postdated. Show all posts
Sunday, January 9, 2011
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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