Today was my 9th full day in NYC.
I found this blog called A Year In New York, where writer David Ferris documented a year in NYC as a writer (like me, he’s also from San Francisco). I’m addicted to his blog. I’m one who loves insight to the future, even if totally improbable; hence, my obsession with weather forecasts and fortunetellers…and blogs about a year in NYC.
And reading his blog reminded me: I need to update this blog more often.
I’ve been writing in my moleskine–but haven’t felt compelled to post online, partly because I haven’t blogged here for awhile, partly because I’m still absorbing this exhilarating whirlwind of change.
I signed up for Photojojo.com awhile back on my irl-name flickr stream. Photojojo.com sends you a few photos on a monthly basis, of photos taken a year previous. I quickly discovered that:
1) I DO the SAME STUFF EVERY SINGLE YEAR (going to see the golden aspens in Tahoe! making pumpkin bread! vegetable gardening!)
2) THE SAME STUFF HAPPENS EVERY YEAR
3) AT THE SAME TIME
Ohboy. Time for a change, I thought. And then an opportunity to live in NYC came along. We pondered the opportunity–we decided to go for it, and told ourselves that if we hit a roadblock in planning, we’d reconsider. No roadblocks whatsoever occurred; we found a place to live in an act of ultimate kizmet, and the timing was such that I could take a semester off from teaching. Additionally, other logistics fell into place. Like magic.
All of the above happened inside of a month. I didn’t even know what to pack. I ended up throwing everything in a box and sending it off to NYC (where we met the box, disheveled and falling apart, after driving to NYC in the car).
So we’re here in NYC–we braved Arizona blizzards (does that state have ANY snow plows?! We saw 5 spinouts and flipped cars inside of 30 minutes at one point) in our tiny MINI, and then outran the storms as best we could across New Mexico and Texas, until we reached New Orleans, where we spent NYE (amidst tornado watches). We love New Orleans. We pondered just staying put and refusing to move on to NYC. We ate at Jacques-Imo’s for NYE dinner, and vowed to return.
We ate at Waffle House (my first time! AMAZINGLY delicious) somewhere in Alabama, at Cracker Barrel (blech worse than dorm food) in Virginia, and I watched my husband eat a 24 ounce steak in Amarillo, Texas. The wiener dogs settled into the backseat of our car and snuggled for thousands of miles, happy as clams through aforementioned blizzards.
We got to NYC–and found a parking spot right in front of our apartment building. One of my friends called it a total Doris Day moment–too bad I was wearing the same pants and tshirt I’d been wearing for 5 days…if I’d known there would be a Doris Day moment, I’d have changed into a Dris Day shift dress and wool peacoat and put on some foundation and mascara.
It was magical. Surreal, even, to drive through the Holland Tunnel into Manhattan, and then walk through the doors of our apartment building. And stare out the windows at Manhattan, the Empire State Building lit up like a Bomb Pop popsicle in green and red.
We…were…here. I had realized a dream.
It’s now Day 9. We’ve settled into a routine after checking out no fewer than 7 food stores (Fairway, HMart, Sunrise Mart, Food Emporium, Whole Foods, Citarella, Ottamanelli’s Meats, just to name a few). I’ve seen 2 rats (one living, one dead), a falcon in the sky, a kazillion cupcake carts/trucks/stores, hundreds of naked post-Christmas Christmas trees awaiting garbage pickup, mountains of garbage (the city was behind on garbage pickup, post-blizzard), and had 8 bloody noses from the dry air.
And yesterday, I signed a contract at The Writers Room. It was hard to decide, but in the end I chose the Writers Room over Paragraph in an emotional decision; I woke up everyday imagining myself writing at the Writers Room–no matter how I tried, I could only imagine myself writing at the Writers Room and nowhere else.
Today, I sat down to write at the Writers Room–I could hear every gulp of water from the other writers, and I could hear that one writer was on a roll, typing with mad abandon. Every once in awhile, the radiators would hiss and rattle.
It was good. It was really really good.
(Also: I love NYC, but I miss my Bay Area friends. I miss you!)