you will find it
It’s very easy here to feel pretty lost. Not only in the sense that it’s a big city, but also because being here has made me feel both more fulfilled and at the same time, directionless. The best analogies to describe this feeling are looking for something in the dark and/or running in water.
The great thing about being here: opportunity. Everywhere. I can’t go out without hearing about/seeing/reading something about someone who is doing something awesome in the area. People here are in it to win it. As my roommate put it to me today, “work hard, play hard.” I can do it!, I thought. Then I went and took a two hour nap.
Maybe I’m thinking about this too much, but the more I think about it, the more I find a rhyme to my confusion. This move came completely out of thin air for me — nowhere was it even in my “five year plan.” By my age (24), the twelve year old version of me thought I’d be telling my children bedtime stories and making a hearty meatloaf for the family dinner by now. I am having such difficulty understanding the derailment of a seemingly engrained life plan. Why am I feeling it especially today? One of my oldest childhood friends got engaged yesterday — and every time it happens, a little word bubble in the back of my mind wonders about my life equation.
The “engrained life plan” I’m talking about is the story I wrote in my head as a child. It’s one that I gathered from my parents, and my grandparents, and just people in general. You go to school, work hard, and make friends. One day one of these friends becomes your husband or wife. Together you settle down and have children and acquire experience and possessions. You grow old. Things repeat with your offspring. Work is sprinkled in there somewhere.
It was that simple. But somewhere along the way, I decided to do things differently, or just at a different pace. And I’ve written about this before, so I won’t repeat myself. The realization always comes when I’m somewhere new, wondering what am I doing?
I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I’m going to find it. One of these days.
the beautiful boroughs
I designed this New York borough poster this evening — pretty wild Friday night!
a reason anyway
things feel like anything
a reason awake all night
makes for a reason anyway
a city in a day
A Bride at 100
My sister shared this video with me. Listening to the 100-year old bride, Dana Jackson, talk about what weddings were like when she was young is my favorite part.
Getting married wasn’t a big thing back when I was young, it wasn’t no big thing— you just got somebody to preach or knew the bible a little bit, give a short talk, and that was it…just simple, you know, just simple — wore clothes, maybe a bouquet cut out of the yard. It’s not what you got, it’s what you make out the marriage.
A great reminder in an age where weddings can become quite excessive…
This was the story of my entire weekend…sick in bed. I had to nix my trip to Boston at the last moment and spent the past three days curled up under my comforter, watching days switch to evenings and eating Oreo cookies.
One of my co-workers suggested my sudden sickness was because this week was particularly busy for me. On Thursday I began my new job (in addition to my internship M-W) and by Friday afternoon I was feeling very dizzy, and my body was flipping from hot to shivering cold! I tried toughing it out, but only make it through 3/4 of the work day.
It’s different working five days in New York versus in North Dakota or Minnesota, because here I have a 45 minute commute on both ends of the day. I start each morning walking a mile to the subway, take the train into midtown Manhattan, work 9-5, then do the same routine home — only a little more exhausted. It’s a marathon, and it really wears a person down! I don’t know what I’d do without my weekends to decompress.
The one bright spot of the weekend was going to the grocery store and stocking up on sale-priced Häagen Dazs ice cream. And eating it in bed.
xo
j
Falling. Falling. Falling.
Manhattan Maps and Other Approved Thoughts
Near the top of my favorite things about New York, aside from the randomosity, are the happenstance instances where you meet strangers. People that you have never seen in your life that approach another with casual fearlessness for the sake of a two or twenty-minute exchange.
I have never experienced this perplexing proximity as much I have in this city. Maybe it’s due to the densely-populated area, or maybe I just look friendly enough to talk to. On multiple occasions, and especially at coffee shops, unfamiliar faces have taken a seat across from me and struck up a conversation about anything from iPad cases to the US Postal Service. It’s fascinating.
A few weeks ago, I was sitting at a coveted two-top table at Starbucks on Astor. The place was packed, and it took me a good ten minutes of hovering before I moved in. I turned on my electronic devices and tuned out — momentarily. Several minutes later, someone had spotted the empty chair across from me and envisioned a big “FOR RENT” sign taped to it.
I looked up. A well-groomed woman, probably in her 60s, was mouthing something to me. CAN I SIT HERE? I nodded in agreement, too polite to say no. She had long, slick white hair and Ray-Ban aviators, and tugged along a shy cocker spaniel.
“Ellen,” as I soon learned her name, wasted no time putting me to work. “Is that an iPad? I don’t even know how to work one of those things. Can you tell me what the weather is in Santiago, Chile?”
“Sure.” I plugged in the information and relayed to her that it was eighty-something degrees.
“What about the weather in March? What’s the weather like in Santiago in March?”
It was a roundabout way of telling me that she was going on a cruise with her girlfriend, a free cruise at that, and before that vacation she’d be going to London for such-and-such.
Before I could get in a word, the conversation segued to the prior activities of her afternoon, where she stood in line at the post office for an unreasonable amount of time. Dissatisfied with her service, Ellen took it upon herself to document the whole lousy experience, perhaps for authorities, or maybe just for her own satisfaction. She pulled out her cell phone, the Blackberry that she’d told me five minutes earlier she had no clue how to use, and stuck it in the curmudgeon postal worker’s face. She snapped a photo to the screams of, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! YOU CAN’T TAKE MY PICTURE!!, then, as she put it, realized that carrying through with her scheme meant that someone was probably going to murder her later that night. So she stopped.
All the while, I nodded and smiled, and Ellen could read what I was thinking. You probably think I’m crazy! I shook my head and laughed, telling her that I was just happy to be talking to someone. And I was. After talking about her dog, her home in East Hampton, and her struggle to overcome the gender inequalities of the film industry in the 1980’s, Ellen ran out of words for herself, and asked me what I was doing. What are you, a student? Yes, kind of. At Cooper? Right across the street? I shook my head ‘no,’ and she bombarded me with YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE TO COOPER! IT’S FREE, a statement I found to be about as effective as, “YOU SHOULD HAVE EATEN THE PRIME RIB FOR DINNER SIX YEARS AGO. IT WAS DELICIOUS.” Mentioning school was a good lead for Ellen to talk about how much money she’d donated to various organizations, so I listened more.
By the end of the conversation, I could see that Ellen felt she’d made an impression on me (which she did), so she dropped her credentials (she’d produced a few PBS documentaries) awards (an Emmy) and social contact information. Ellen was now my “friend!” What was more, Ellen offered me a small job — no questions asked — pet-sitting her cocker spaniel (“Bella, she’s a rescue”) while she was on her cruise in Santiago.
Things like this happen every day in New York, and there are Ellens everywhere — people just looking to connect with the world, or talk about their life, or learn about someone else’s. Connecting in a real-world situation outside of social media, the kinds of interaction that another stranger told me last week, “we’re afraid to do.”
So, I am embracing the awkwardness. Loving the exchange. You never know what you’ll get.
Mr. Happy Man
I love this story — shines a warm light on humanity! Smile.
b r i g h t a c c e s s o r i e s !
Fashion Week has me dreaming of accessories!
approximatelyes.com 