When Did I Suddenly Become Old?

"When she said they'd mentioned marriage, I was a bit surprised but then I realized she was 23."

"She's 24 mom. 24. I'm 23."

"Yes, yes, well, anyway, at that age it's not so strange at all."

"Well, for me it is. Having had only one boyfriend I would truly count, I'm hardly in the position to start thinking marriage let alone long-term relationship."

"Who? Ryan? He doesn't count!"

"Great, so I've had no real relationships and my girlfriends are all getting married. Fabulous!"

This is how my break has been thus far. I'm surrounded by girlfriends who are either married, thinking of marriage, or in long-term relationships. It makes me question myself a bit. Why is it that don't seem to connect with anyone and why is it that, at this point in my life, having to deal with someone else's issues and trying to fit him into my life just doesn't sound feasible or fun? Am I late to mature or simply too selfish to commit myself to anyone? I don't suppose I like either answer but no matter what it is, I feel old.

But how can you commit when you can't even commit to your life? I want to live in New York one minute and San Francisco the next. I want to have a glamorous job today and tomorrow I want to work for a non-profit. I want to go out to fancy bars every weekend this month and next month I only want to rock climb and hike. If I don't know myself, how can I expect anyone to know me. Which leads to the question, when will I ever know myself? Am I too dynamic, too ever-changing, to ever settle down as "myself"?

Writing Topic

In the disparity of my current situation, I find myself searching desperately for writing opportunities to muster yet another by-line. This leads me to a multitude of subjects I have never considered before. Most recently I submitted a brief personal essay on what home is so me and now I find myself blustering through ideas for a longer personal essay.

When I hear the term personal essay, I can only think of writing an essay on my own life, which in turn means I can really only think of writing about my struggle to find a place where I belong. How is this of any interest?

Everyone struggles after college, searching for that ever elusive "purpose" we dream of finding while in college. Well, for those of us who didn't discover our purpose in college, it doesn't just hit us when we graduate either. I've been out of school for a year and a half and I still have yet to discover my purpose. My list of likes and dislikes has continued to grow, however, my ultimate goals in life still elude me.

So what can I deduce at this point?

- I like to write but I rarely have time.

- I like to read but hardly find myself reading except when on the subway.

- I love to be artistic but haven't the space to create.

- I like money (this sounds ridiculously vain but, to be honest, I'm tired of struggling to pay rent, feed myself and my dog, and grab the occasional beer).

- I like the outdoors but not all the time (ruling out the career choice of ranger).

- I like open, friendly, team-oriented environments.

- I dislike working in an environment that has me fearing for my job daily.

- Music is what makes my life complete.

What does this tell me about myself? Ultimately, I need a 30 hour day. Either that or I need to marry a rich man. Neither of these are plausible and the last is rather reprehensible.

Where does this leave me? Back where I started. Continue to work, continue to write if I can find the time, continue to read, get back to art when it's spring and I can use the roof, find some small way to make money in the meantime.

Underlying my every day life will continue to be a question I have been asking myself for the past eight months. When is it right to take the next leap in life? When should I let go and move on? Recently, a friend of mine who found herself less than pleased with her occupation and city quit her job and, upon checking her email that evening, discovered she had the internship she'd applied for. She quit first and was hired second.

Can I do that? Can I abandon a paycheck in an uncertain economy? When I graduated it was easy to leap. I landed on my feet. But now I have my feet on solid ground, if slightly cracked. How can I know when it is right to jump off it? Is there ever a right time to jump or is it simply that one must jump and deal with the consequences?

Superstitious, I believe also in fate. If I am laid off, I will return to Portland and begin searching for jobs in San Francisco. The choice is easy. I will do what I must. But with a current job, the choice becomes more difficult. Can I really justify leaving my current situation if I don't have another job and if I have no idea if I will even be happy doing the work I'm looking into? How can I ascertain if I will be happy in the next phase of my life?

In the end, is it simply balls to the walls and see what happens? Or is it play it safe and maybe happiness will follow someday?

Wriggling and Niggling

It's completely incomprehensible, wriggling in the back of your mind, controlling your desires, your actions, your memories. Deja vu. It's rare that I feel an overwhelmingly powerful sense of it but today, while walking home from work, I could not escape this feeling.

I relaxed, riding a sense of ease when suddenly I felt a need to do something. I knew not what but I knew there was something. Something I was supposed to be doing. Being unable to do what I knew I must, I felt a clutching at my heart. Was it deja vu, fate? Was there something I was supposed to be doing at that exact moment that would decide the rest of my life?

Whatever fateful event was meant to take place on 10th st, a street a walk twice a day every day, didn't because I never remembered/realized what I was meant to do.

Lost and Found

I finally found it.

My group.


This entire time in New York I've had different groups of friends, different individual friends, but I've never had my group. I've never had people who I knew I could rely on no matter what. The closest I came to that was with my Colby boys (and look how well that turned out). This weekend I finally found a group of girls I can turn to for anything and who are absolutely amazing, beautiful women. They are strong, intelligent, driven, and kind. I could not have imagined a more wonderful group.

Ironically, at least three of us are plotting moves to California in the near future and Amy is moving to Maine come January, but for now we are all together. What was meant to be a quick holiday book club meeting on Saturday night evolved into a 6 hour event in which we gushed, giggled, screamed, and sang (Spice Girls-there is no good explanation for this).

Following the fun fest, I wandered home and found my mood darkening. A late night "booty call" quickly had me heating up and finally, after having refused to meet up, I called the guy out on it. He asked me how I knew it was a booty call, to which I said, "honestly, isn't it?" He admitted it was and that was that. When did it become acceptable for men to treat women that way? I'm not asking to be wined and dined. All I'm asking, is if you want my attention, my time, my kisses, if you want me in any way, you call ahead of time to say you are hoping to meet up or would like to meet up. You do not call after midnight. End of story.

This morning, dealing with wine hangovers, Amy, Paige, and I decided the best cure was the hair of the dog that bit us (plus shopping), so we met up at Columbus Circle where we meandered a Christmas bizarre and grabbed a quick bite to eat with cocktails. It sounds horrendously childish to say it, but I felt like an adult. I had a lovely meal out with my girlfriends and did some shopping. Perhaps it's hanging out with Paige, who is completely put together and married, but something about the afternoon seemed mature, respectable, and all and all, grown up.

This weekend I lost my respect for men but I found my niche.

Work Ethic

Every time I sit down to apply for jobs I run into the same problem: work ethic. I have a work ethic but I get easily frustrated by my writing and inevitably refuse to send out any job applications because I don't deem my cover letters worthy. Well, this cycle prevents any hope of me finding a job.

Back in the day I dated a guy who would not submit his essays because he didn't think they represented his writing well. I mocked him - completely lost in this concept. A deadline is a deadline. It must be met. Not turning in an assignment was never an option. But now, without deadlines, I find I face the same issue. I refuse to "produce" something that isn't quite perfect. But at what point must I face the fact that maybe I can't produce something that is perfect? Maybe this "almost quality" is the best I can produce? So when will I admit that I just have to give up and submit my work rather than dreaming of perfection?

The answer is not today...still working, still striving, still dreaming...

Decisions

As my job becomes steadily more and more unsteady, I form back up plans left and right, struggling to find the simplest solution to quite possibly the most difficult life road block I've come across thus far. What do you do when you lose your source of income and can't afford the only life you know?

Moving may appear irrational but without income, a credit card debt, and a dog....

but what is one to do?

Distortions, Fantasies, and Escape Plans

I think I've realized my life is never going to be the life I fantasize about.

In my fantasy, I love my job. I get paid lots of money to follow my bliss. I make a difference in the world for the better. I come home to a spacious apartment/cottage and enjoy the company of my well behaved dog. I explore the outdoors but enjoy going out as well. More importantly, I can afford to do both. In my fantasy I meet a guy and we instantly click and the connection is undeniable. We are both addicted instantly. The End.

In my world, I hate my job once again. I battle the forces that are trying to eliminate my position due to budget cuts and, thus, have to pretend I love my job. I get paid nothing and am constantly strapped for cash. I make the rich richer and the poor poorer (except in this economy the rich are losing money by the buckets). I come home to my tiny room and a dog that has decided to take out his resentment on me by pissing or shitting after I take him out on his walk. I never see the outdoors, unless you count the sidewalks of NYC. I go out sometimes, but rarely have the funds to. In my reality I meet a guy and think, he'll do. He's not great but he's nice. He's company. We're both mutually unimpressed and decide to end it for both of our sakes. The End.

In my reality, I have to face facts and start planning my escape. Being laid off appears inevitable, which makes remaining in NYC impossible. Westbound. But where to? And can I find a job? With the global economy in turmoil, jobs are rare. With only a year of experience under my belt, I am still indistinguishable from the masses who apply every day. So how can I turn fantasy into reality? Is it even possible?

I'll take a lesson from a puppet. I will find my purpose. The first step is discovering your bliss. Thank you Avenue Q!

Exhaustion

Grabbing life, entwining bodies sway, uncontrollable in the rush of excitement. Sip life, live life, love life. Lose control moving. Push the envelope. Alter the persona. Dream to be. Be your dream. Dare to chance. Dare to change. Dare.

Sentimental

Caroline is visiting this weekend and I find myself more sentimental than normal so up go my London pics. They may not be Glasgow but they're close! So I'm posting pictures as we eat Scottish shortbread and watch Amelie (yet again, not Glaswegian, but can anyone really name a fantastically amazing Glaswegian film?)

Normal is Overrated

Growing up I longed to be popular, to be well coiffed, to be put together and self-assured. Dealing with a former friend in a particular situation that is better left forgotten, I was constantly told, "you're kind of awkward, right?"

Well, if I've learned one thing about myself recently, it's that I am. I am awkward and I embrace it. Our eccentricities, our imperfections, are what make us interesting, appealing, desirable. No one wants someone perfect. The flaws make us endearing. For what reason other than her peculiarities, do people love Amelie? It is because of her quirks that this movie gained a following.

The same applies for music. It is the strange and different music that appeals to me now. I still love acoustic rock and I will forever be a fan of most anything indie but in general I crave something unique. Add a trombone, a tuba, a trumpet, an accordion perhaps, and I am all yours.

So how is it in a world in which we are taught to conform I have come to the conclusion the most interesting, most beautiful things are those that don't?

If Home is Where Your Heart Is, Where Exactly is My Heart?

Before leaving for London, I decided to explore NYC.

I fell in love.

And then I left and forgot.

Now I'm back and searching.

At times I ponder if I will always be so fickle, if all my life I will wonder if I am in the right city, if I will ever feel at home.


I think back and try to remember what made me so exquisitely happy with NYC that weekend. The images help to remind me, but that deep-seeded love still alludes me. Perhaps this weekend I will remember. For now, there are only the pictures of the past.

Where I was, where I am, where I will be

Time, ever present and ever changing, has made its presence known in my life this week. Prior to the collapse of the financial world, Zephyr Management arranged for the company-wide meeting to be held in London. Friday I walked through the security check I'd stumbled through, blind from lack of sleep and dizzy from excitement, two and a half years ago. Going through the same gate and boarding the same airlines, I felt lost in a time warp. But this time, instead of continuing my travels to Scotland, I disembarked in Heathrow. My brief stay flew by, drowning in rain and company gatherings. What little time I found for myself involved an incredible amount of alcohol (welcome back to the UK!), walks in the rain, and short naps. It was only on my final day that I was able to find a decent amount of time to myself as well as sunny weather. It was then I fell in love. London is not Edinburgh and, thank goodness, it is no New York. The immense sense of history while walking around London is what I miss in New York. Just some sense of history is what I seek. New England is wrought with history while Oregon, be it a new state, promotes the Oregon Trail at every bend.

Once returned to New York, I realized I really do not enjoy my living situation in the least bit. Combined with a CEO in a bad mood, which manages to put the rest of the office on edge, circumstances had me dreaming of leaving and finding something new. Spurred on by irritation, I checked craigslist for jobs in San Francisco and the first job I saw made me stop looking. It is the perfect job. Actually, they are the perfect jobs. Summer Search has two positions open in San Francisco: events coordinator and grants writer. I would kill to have either. And I have connections to Summer Search. Although I'm not sure that they will help. My boss, the crabby CEO one, is on the board of directors. Fabulous! Not exactly the "in" I would like. But at least I attended a fund raiser for Summer Search this fall. That may help?

Who knows what the future may hold, I certainly know what my past held, and I am quickly learning I'm not quite sure I like what my present holds. I suppose it's time to "flush my crabbies down the toilet" as my mom would say, and get up and move on. If it's not what I want, it's time to make it...easy enough, right? Now I only have to discover what it is I want.

History in the Making

At 11:03 PM the city erupted with shrieks, fireworks, cowbells, and tears as the first American black president was elected to office. 4 years ago I sat in my dorm room, my optimism fading as the reality that Kerry would not win crashed down upon me. Perhaps it was a need, perhaps it was naivete or selfishness or optimism, but there was no other option this year. Obama would win. He would conquer racism, prejudice, and Republicans.

Obama, a master of the English language who wields words with ease and might, won me over four years ago at the Democratic convention. Hearing him describe the America he believed in, the America he knew existed, I felt a desire to be part of it. Except for as a young child, I have never felt a connection to being an American. While studying abroad I claimed to be a Canadian at times. One time, when admitting to my scarlet letter, I was told, "You wouldn't like me; I don't like your president or your country" by a French boy. But I felt just like him. I didn't like my president and I didn't respect a country that could elect someone with so little intelligence. To hear Obama describe a united, strong, dedicated America, I yearned for it to be.

Tonight it was. Tonight New York City united in a celebration of the victory of America.

Around the world newspapers commented on the U.S. presidential election but an article on Nikkei Net, a Japanese paper, is what stands out to me. The U.S. adapts. We adapted, we joined, we fought, we won. I have never been so proud to be an American.

Forever Young

I had forgotten the joys of a euphoric high after a good concert. I had forgotten and I was reminded.

At the last minute, I received an email from Ari saying I got the concert I wanted, so last night I rushed home to shove a fake-burger down my throat, toss on a dress, and grab Jenn before I headed to the Bowery Ballroom. Arriving a half an hour early, I was surprised to hear music already. Turns out I was not quite as up-to-date about the time of the show as I'd thought. Missing a mere 5 minutes, Jenn and I dashed up the stairs and straight to the stage (o read more about this concert you'll have to visit www.mel.opho.be).

What struck me while listening to Matt White, despite the fact that he lacked the old school crooning persona I expected, was that his songs were all about sweet love, hopeful love, romantic love. There was nothing realist about his lyrics. There was no real underlying doubt. He sang as if his heart had never been broken. It made me think. How much of what he sings about does he believe? How much of what he sings about does he merely hope exists? How much does he sing because he knows it's what women, his audience, want to hear? Am I cynical to question the nature of his music? Perhaps, but in this day in age it's difficult to accept someone believes in love at first sight.

But it also makes me wonder at myself. I swoon. I melt. I yearn for truth in his words. Ever the cynical optimist, my cynicism developed in an attempt to protect my romantic, optimistic hidden self. On the way to the performance Jenn and I chatted about emotions and the notion that those that have really high highs have really low lows. We debated if it was better to live without the highs and the lows or to have the ups with the downs. Without thinking I answered the highs and the lows are what make life worth living. So why, if I believe this is true, am I shielding myself from the highs and lows created by the opposite sex? Should I rethink things? It was a thought provoking evening and, if nothing else, it reminded me that I am too young to know the answers to these questions. Forever young, forever naive, forever innocent. Will the answers come before it is too late?

23 going on 70?

How is it that at 23 I am a grumpy old maid? The Planter's commercial comes to mind: "sometimes I feel like a nut, sometimes I don't". Sometimes I feel like a grumpy old woman and sometimes I feel like an energetic, enthusiastic girl my age. One year ago I didn't have this issue. One year ago I was happy and carefree. Today I am weighed down by work, by responsibilities, by debts, and more. Today the resentment I feel on a day to day basis for doing a job I don't enjoy in an environment I don't enjoy, pulls me into an abyss of crankiness despite my best efforts to resist.

Growing up, everyone said to follow your bliss. What is my bliss? Is it like chasing a rainbow for the pot of goal? Is bliss ever attainable? Many of my friends are certain of their life goals. They know exactly what job will make them happy. I've lived my life without a clear goal in mind regarding my job. My plans floated from veterinarian, to writer, to publisher, to public relations specialist, to communications coordinator.

I think the first step to recapturing my youth is to find my bliss. For this reason, I am planning my departure from NYC and relocation, but to where? The first question is what to do. The second question is where to do it. That being said, in order to achieve this, step one is to get out of debt. I am now officially on the "cheap food and no shopping" diet. With luck, I just might find the 23 year old me a few weeks before I turn 24.

Sing to me muse

Although work was the predominant focus of my day day, I found myself overwhelmingly artistic compared to normal. In desperate search for extra money, I have been stalking craigslist for interesting writing opportunities. I sat at my computer, musing over how to make all of the information for the Unicorn III fund fit on only two pages, my thoughts meandered towards the topic of divorce, a subject someone on craigslist was searching for pieces about. Finding myself at a computer, I pushed aside my work to spew my thoughts out as quickly as possible, my fingers flying in an attempt to ride myself of my thoughts and ideas before my boss noticed I was no longer working on Unicorn (Unicorn, despite being named after a mythological, beautiful creature, is my own person hell right now).

Released from my work prison, I proceeded home after throwing a hissy fit to get a $10 refund from Nine West (please see below post "Life of a New Yorker: Poor"). Despite my desire to save money, after chatting with my mom and Rachel, walking the dog, making dinner, and painting my nails for my Halloween costumer, I could not resist the appeal of iTunes. I turned on my slow computer and muddled through the process of persuading my ancient beast of a machine to function. Instead of buying the Old 97s, as was my original plan, I spontaneously grabbed up a Gogol Bordello cd, which I had been meaning to do for some time, as well as a few songs off Ingrid Michaelson's new release. Commencing with the songs of Miss Michaelson, I was stunned to hear a song ripped from my past. A song that truly began my foray into music review. Recorded at Webster Hall, this recording was created at my first concert I reviewed. Nothing ever sounds the same, yet it always sounds the same. Hearing the song again outside the concert environment is unnerving and leaves me feeling displaced and nostalgic.

Ironically, the song that immediately followed Michaelson's "The Chain" was GoGol Bordello's "Ultimate".

"There were never any good ol' days; they are today, they are tomorrow"

Evidently nostalgia isn't worth my time.

The Life of a New Yorker: Poor

Admittedly, I was naive and idealistic when coming to New York. Thoughts of cocktail parties, fancy dresses, high paying salaries requiring little to no work flitted through my head as, stepping on board my plane for New York, I envisioned my future "Sex and the City" lifestyle. Even the people who "struggled" in their poor accommodations always went out to dinners, drinks, and eventually revamped their apartments (which, by the way, are always huge) in the movies. So imagine me arriving to discover work is required for the little pay I receive, apartments take over 50% of my monthly salary, and in order to afford my "rock and roll lifestyle" of living under a roof in Manhattan with 3 other people, I couldn't go out to dinner or drinks let alone buy decent food to cook at home.

After one year I am still in debt from moving into Manhattan and I've decided enough is enough. I've finally started my 401K because unless someone is taking the money out of my hands, I will find some way to spend it. This way it's not even close to my tempted little fingers. In addition to attempting to save for my future, I've decided the easiest thing to cut is food. Frankly, I can't afford booze, I can't afford to buy new clothes, and I really can't afford food. So after cutting out clothes and alcohol, all I have left to cut it food. Well, what's cheaper than oatmeal, cereal, yogurt, and apple crisp (made with apples from work)? Not a whole lot. This is my life as a New Yorkers. Poor, sober, hungry, crowded, and antisocial.

I really think I ought to move...

Tears, Fears and Everlasting Hope

It's well and easy to claim you know yourself until an event comes that makes you question everything. This weekend's occurrence was one such occasion. A long proclaimed cynic, I swear off men on a regular basis due to my deep-seeded belief that there are few "good guys" out there. Every once in a while I shirk these reservations and give a guy a chance only to be yet again disappointed. So cynic I am and cynic I will remain.

Or so I thought. I adore, above none else, a cheeky romantic comedy, yet I think I love it purely for the fantastical nature of the thing. Swept into a world where men are gentlemen and love is easily come-by, I can release my cynicism for a brief moment in time. However, as soon as the film is over, reality crashes back and love is no longer something easily found or easily kept.

So this weekend when I attended a wedding, I hardly expected to be overwhelmed by emotion. As happy as I am for the couple, I pondered at the ability of any relationship to endure. Hand in hand with my cynical nature, I entered the church. Bets were made on when each woman would cry. Maria didn't even last until the wedding started. After being asked to wear a corsage, the water works started. As the wedding commenced, I watched first the men and then the women walk in. But the minute I saw the bride, I knew I was a lost cause.

Escorted by Beck and Rick, Tori entered the church. Seeing mother, father and daughter, I could not help but tear. A mere few months ago this seemed impossible. First breast cancer and then leukemia stomped on this family. Quite easily someone could not have made it to this day. To see everyone together at such a joyous time and knowing it very nearly wasn't, I couldn't hide from my emotions.

This weekend I began a cynic overwhelmed by fears, turned into a sop with barely controlled emotions, and changed into an optimist with a hope for the future. I've been told I'm a cynical optimist. Quite accurate, I suppose.

Love Will Never End?

Does the love sung of exist or is it merely the hopeful visions of idealists? Every invention stems from reality. Where does that leave us?  

It all started with one simple thought

Walking to work today, my ipod buds in ears, I suddenly was swept to September at the Mercury Lounge as the beat thrummed in my ears and body, rocketing me to the past. But was it really the past? Since initially hearing and liking the Bloodsugars' song Cinderella, I have listened to the song continuously, my adoration growing. When I hear the song now, I instantly think of the first time I heard it, that time being the most memorable. But this memory encompasses not only all the emotions of that experience but, too, all other experiences relating to that song. How is it that I reduce everything down to one experience? And by reducing it to one experience am I creating an unrealistic event that can never be duplicated? Do we prevent ourselves from embracing the present by over zealously creating an untoppable nostalgia?