*Photo from my apartment during the blackout.
As everybody knows, there was this huge thing a week and a half ago. Hurricane Sandy. When it hit New York, I should’ve been comfortably on a plane eating the yummy JetBlue snacks. However, I was in my apartment, on the phone with JetBlue scheduling my cancelled flight. During then, my power went out, our water stopped running and 17 flights of stairs had to be climbed. T’was a fun time. Not. There are so many people that had it a lot worse than I did, so I’ll save my “horror stories” with you over a glass of wine. I regret not going down to the east village and volunteering. I didn’t think of that until I stopped feeling sorry for myself and was finally en route home.
It’s kind of funny that I left that city in such a ruin. Physically and mentally. There was a lot going on before my 6 day delay into California. Packing up my life, saying my goodbyes, and finding a place to charge my phone.
It’s real weird coming back to where I grew up. It’s been an adjustment, but a good adjustment. And even though I’m coming back to somewhere I used to know, I’m getting to know everything all over again in a different state of mind. It’s almost refreshing.
Now on to a new chapter.
I am realizing that re: my last post, there are a lot of people that are going through the same thing. This” finding, re-defining, wanting”-stage of our lives. Not only are my real-life friends relating to me, but also this world of internet I follow.
While I’m not a model of any kind and don’t live in LA (originally living in NYC), Melissa Stetten puts a funny voice into her daily musings/hates of being a model. And today, she wrote a post on how much she isn’t where she wanted to be. And throughout all her rantings, there’s still passion in her voice that makes her keep trucking along, as many times as she gets turned down.
And of course, since every human being is narcissistic, I couldn’t help but relate it to myself. There’s many things I hate about being a so-called “designer,” but I can’t help but love composition, repetition, alignment and proximity. (Also known as CRAP. Thank you GrC 218.) It’s what I’ve surrounded myself with - whether in front of a computer or outside the office, my eye has been trained to look for such things and critique it. That brings me to my next topic: passion.
In the past year or so, I’ve been reading up on the menswear world in new york. Justin Bridges of Tucked recently had his 27th birthday. And with that, naturally, came a post about a few thoughts on his life. One of the things he highlighted about was passion. "…the reality is that if you don’t have passion for whatever it is that you want to do in life, you’re career trajectory will be a flat line. People can read passion as easily as spotting clogged pores and pimples on your face." He left Goldman to pursue something he was passionate about, fashion.
When I come to think about it - I have always half-assed what I think I am. What I think I want to be. I have to really figure out what it is I want and create the steps to get there. I believe I’ve always had a drive to be better and do better, but I think now more than ever, I realize I can create that road (pun intended).
Everything up until now had a linear progression - college, a job, graduate degree… now I can really figure things out and I’m excited. I’m scared as hell, but I’m excited nonetheless.
I’ve been in the never-ending battle with myself of answering the question, “What do you want to do with your career?”
I see so many people out that have successful stories with being creatives. I get so frustrated when I even fathom the thought of figuring out the next step in my life. There are so many people that I look up to and really see how much work they’ve put into something they’ve believed in. Sure they must have had their doubts when they pulled the switch to be freelancers, but it’s worked out so far if they’re featured in ADC Young Guns and Forbes 30 Under 30.
The motivation of others should motivate me. “Liz, get off your ass.” I get motivated, then I don’t…
I actually cringe whenever I say, ‘I’m a designer.’ I got my love of design and working hours on end in Photoshop and Illustrator in high school. I fell in love with paper and print my first year of college. But how do I translate that into it being what I want to do with my career? How do I see what all these other designers are doing and find my own niche?
I guess my fun-employment will really test my limits. I can’t sit still for 5 minutes. And even though I’m complaining, I am genuinely excited to see what I’ll do with my so-called ‘future.’ As I should be, right?
hate, love, hate, love.
In my very first apartment, I didn’t care that I was sharing a studio. I was in mother-effin new york city. Then I did care… I moved out and found a very small apartment that I shared with two others. I had my own room this time, only my twin sized bed touched three walls. That was that… I now live in a place I’ve come to comfortably call home for the past year. All the windows in the apartment give you a breathtaking view of the concrete jungle. The apartment turns into a snowglobe come winter. And as a transplant, I believe that one can never get sick of the skyline that is new york city. It’s impossible.
You know when you were 15 and your crush texted you, but he ignored you during lunch! Then he didn’t text you for 24 hours. WHAT A JERK. Then he finally asked you to go to junior prom and a rush of emotions came to you. Your stomach knotted up and you got all queasy. You can almost cry, you’re so happy!
That is exactly how I feel about this stupid city. I get so fucking tired of going up and down the subway, by missing the train just 2 seconds because the guy in front of me swiped too slow. Then I have to stand on the platform awkwardly with the guy playing The Beatles on the saxophone. God, it sounds amazing. I want to sing along, if only I had change on me. Who am I kidding, I never have any cash on me.
When I get off the train, there’s always that dumb hipster kid with his typewriter. “Poems for $1.” Why would I pay you to write me a poem that would be perfect and worth every penny when I can just walk by and ignore you? The charm of your smile will give up my whole wallet. If my wallet had any value. Now I look like the ass that walks by and thinks I’m too good for you. When in reality, I’m nowhere near how cool you are. But nobody stops to listen to the music. That’s just weird. Don’t stop, you’ll get scuffled by the oncoming traffic that is the 5’oclock commute.
I get so pissed off at this city that I can’t stand it. I hate the people, I hate the subway conductors, I hate the rodents, I hate how hard it is to get groceries! But I love it. I love walking to work and saying hi to the squirrels at Madison Square Park. I love getting to work and going to my Starbucks guys. I love walking out of Bar Method in SoHo, feeling soooo glamorous with my Smart Water.
New York, I love to hate you.
1.5 months and counting
When I first moved to the-city-that-eats-people-alive, I started a blog. I talked about my love affair about a city when I didn’t know you could fall in love with a city. The extravagance of Grand Central Station. The wanderings in SoHo. I talked about the gripes and shitty daily occurrences that happen. It only makes sense to tell the end of the story.
Just shy of 3 years, I will walk away with the scars that new york city tends to leave with you. And I will never go back to California the way I came. This city has beaten the shit out of me and then spit me out alive.
Being in my mid-twenties, I’ve learned more about myself in the past 36 months than I’ve ever known myself in 25 years. And I have never been more comfortable in my own skin. Sure, there are things I’d love to change about myself such as not being such a controlling freak, but that’s a life goal. There is nothing more comforting than to sit in one of the most crowded restaurants in Gramercy alone. With a glass of wine. And the best pasta I have ever tasted. When in reality those moments are when I’m most not alone, I’m part of a bigger picture, a dream I never know I wanted to live. There was obviously music following me around the city while the wind was blowing my hair. Obviously.
There were fucking terrible moments, don’t get me wrong. And when they were bad, they got real bad. In all honesty, I don’t think I will ever come back. But I think that’s what’s so great…
"When you leave the city, you probably won’t come back. Eventually your life in New York will seem so far away and sometimes you’ll even wonder if it really happened. Don’t worry. It did." via. Thought Catalog
"Just imagine how much you’d get done if you stopped actively sabotaging your own work."