2014 brought way more self-discovery than I asked for.
I thought I’d discovered all my insecurities already, and for sure I figured out already what I wanted to do with my life. Go figure, all that changes when you’re on your own for the first time. Most of all I miss my family and feeling like I’m worth something. New York has a funny way of making you feel pretty worthless. The homeless person doesn’t thank you for the dollar on the subway; the esteemed publishing houses that invite you in don’t invite you back; and there’s always, always somebody doing/living/looking better.
I figured I was one of those “adventurous” ones who could leave her friends, family, and hopeful job connections 915 miles behind her (without crying) to pursue, ever so gracefully, a career in what she loved. It’s just too damn bad for me it doesn’t work like that.
I was sure of my decision to move to New York from the beginning. I still am. I think. I figured since I could dress the part and plaster a fake smile on my face someone would love me. But that just isn’t the case, my friends. Everyone in New York knows someone’s cousin, or went to an ivy, or looks more like an off-duty model. No pity party for me though. I get it. In time it will happen. But my life looks a lot less like Jack Karouac sipping black coffee and writing world-changing literature and a lot like Hannah Horvath, penniless, manic, not shaving her legs, etc.
I promise I value hygiene as much as the next person; it’s just much harder to maintain your self worth where you can count the number of people who could bail you out of jail on one hand, aren’t making a steady income (freelancing doesn’t count), and want everyone else to think you’re having the time of your life. It’s a tough life out there for those dumb enough to leave behind their entire support system along with perfectly-apt job opportunities.
I know, no pity party. This city is beautiful. In every nook and cranny there’s a talent waiting to be discovered and a story ready to be told. I intend to both be one of the talents and tell all those stories.
I may have to crawl in my bed to get new panties out of my dresser (mesh drawer from IKEA) and getting a new flavor frozen burrito from Trader Joes may be one of the most exciting parts of my week, but I chose this. I picked the hard route. The long windy route. The route that won’t even let you off to pee. The route that glares when I ask “are we there yet?” But it’s mine. This apartment is mine, this journey is mine, this mattress is mine, and this dream is mine.
2015 will bring good things, but I will anticipate the bad. New York may have kicked my ass, but I came up smiling and ready for more. Really. It takes borderline psychos to live here. So bring it on. I’m here and I’m staying.
*So much for a fashion blog, but this post has been on the tips of my fingers and needed to be written. Here’s me in my dream neighborhood (Williamsburg) wearing a few Christmas presents.